' 

:<•  f  f 
• 


A  New  Race  Diplomatist 


"  I    LOVK    A    WOMAN    HOPELESSLY" 


Page  56 


A 

New  Race  Diplomatist 

A  NOVEL 


BY 


e  Bullard  Waterbury 

AUTHOR  or  "AN  AMERICAN  ASPIRANT" 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 
EDOUARD  CUCUEL 


PHILADELPHIA  &  LONDON 
J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 

1900 

¥¥¥¥¥¥  ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ 


COPYRIGHT,  1899, 

BY 
J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 


AND  PRINTED  BY  J.  B.  LlPWNCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA.  U.S.A. 


Les  barrieres  servant  &  indiquer  oh  il  faut  passer." 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I  PAGE 

THE  AMERICAN  POINT  OF  VIEW  .............       9 

CHAPTER  II 
COUNTERPARTS  ......................     15 

CHAPTER  III 
AT  GNARLWOOD  .................  ....     24 

CHAPTER  IV 
AN  UNCONDITIONAL  COMPACT    ..............     a8 

CHAPTER  V 
THE  FRENCH  POINT  OF  VIEW    ..............     36 

CHAPTER  VI 
A  DEFEATED  HANDICAP   .................     49 

CHAPTER  VII 
A  VERY  GREAT  LADY   ..................     60 

CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  UNDERTOW   .....................     6S 

CHAPTER  IX 
LAMBALLE'S  STORY  .  ...................     71 

CHAPTER  X 
THE  FRONTIER  ......................     78 

vii 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  XI 
ACTION    .........................     87 

CHAPTER  XII 
THE  RIFT  WITHIN  THE  LUTE  ...............     97 

CHAPTER  XIII 
REMINISCENT  .......................   108 

CHAPTER  XIV 
AT  THE  DUCHESSE'S  ...................    112 

CHAPTER  XV 
HALF-PAST  Two  A.M  ....................    121 

CHAPTER  XVI 
THREE  MODERN  DROMIOS   ................    125 

CHAPTER  XVII 
ANOTHER  HANDICAP  ...................    133 

CHAPTER  XVIII 
A  RETROSPECT  ......................    143 

CHAPTER  XIX 
UNMASKED  ........................   151 

CHAPTER  XX 
A  SIGNIFICANT  FRUSTRATION  ...............    159 

CHAPTER  XXI 
IN  THE  AMBASSADOR'S  LOGE  ...............    165 

CHAPTER  XXII 
BETWEEN  DAYLIGHT  AND  DARK    .............    175 

CHAPTER  XXIII 
CONCERNING  CAREMBOURG  ................    183 

viii 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XXIV  PACK 

AN  UNGUARDED  PROCEEDING 190 

CHAPTER  XXV 
A  DISCLOSURE 196 

CHAPTER  XXVI 
THE  RISE  OF  MARIOTTI 206 

CHAPTER  XXVII 
THE  AMBASSADOR  ENTERS  THE  ENEMY'S  RANKS 214 

CHAPTER  XXVIII 
A  LIGHT  WITH  SHADOWED  RAYS 222 

CHAPTER  XXIX 
CHECKMATE 230 

CHAPTER  XXX 
AT  CAREMBOURG 237 

CHAPTER  XXXI 
DEFIANCE 243 

CHAPTER  XXXII 
ON  THE  TRAIL  .  .  . 253 

CHAPTER  XXXIII 
CLOSING  IN 261 

CHAPTER  XXXIV 
AT  THE  THEATRE  MARIOTTI 266 

CHAPTER  XXXV 
FOUND      274 

CHAPTER  XXXVI 

BETWEEN  DARK  AND  DAYLIGHT 282 

ix 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XXXVII  ,AGR 

A  RADICAL  DEVELOPMENT 286 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII 
THE  REVERSE  OF  THE  MEDAL 298 

CHAPTER  XXXLX 
THE  AMBASSADRESS'S  STORY 304 

CHAPTER  XL 
JACK'S  STORY 311 

CHAPTER  XLI 
THE  SIGN  AT  THE  CROSS-ROADS 320 

CHAPTER  XLII 
THE  TRIAL 325 

CHAPTER  XLIII 
MARIOTTI'S  DEFENCE 335 

CHAPTER  XLIV 
THE  ULTIMATUM 343 

CHAPTER  XLV 
MARKOE'S  STORY     351 

CHAPTER  XLVI 
THE  AMBASSADOR'S  REPORT 362 


ILLUSTRATIONS 
V* 

PAGE 

"  I  LOVE  A  WOMAN  HOPELESSLY"     Frontispiece 

TRANSFIXED  AT  THE  PICTURE  SHE  MADE 32 

"I  HAVE  TO  THANK  You  FOR  A  NEW  EXPERIENCE,"  HE  SAID  .  168 

"THE  QUICKER  HE  is  REMOVED  THE  BETTER" 279 

"You  ARE  BOLD  INDEED,  MONSIEUR,  TO  ACCUSE  LAMBALLE"  .  348 


A  New  Race  Diplomatist 


CHAPTER   I 

THE   AMERICAN    POINT    OF   VIEW 

'  '  THE  post  will  be  no  sinecure  in  the  forthcoming  in- 
stance," asserted  the  newly-sworn-in  President.  "It  will 
govern  an  international  complication." 

'  '  Carried  over  ?'  '  inquired  Markoe. 

"Let  us  first  dismiss  the  point  in  hand,"  was  the  cau- 
tious response. 

Markoe  had  stepped  into  the  private  office  of  the  na- 
tion's chief  in  answer  to  a  summons  he  had  received  the 
day  before. 

It  was  a  week  since  the  President  had  sat  at  his  desk 
with  a  sketched  plan  before  him  ;  a  chart  which  indicated 
an  unfaltering  memory,  and  a  unique  faculty  for  general- 
ship. Below  it  were  written  three  names,  Burroughs, 
Spencer,  and  Markoe. 

To-day  Markoe  stood  before  him,  an  individual  who  was 
dreaded  more,  understood  less,  yet  felt  to  a  larger  extent 
than  any  man  within  the  political  radius  out  of  office. 

The  alluded-to  complication  involved  a  dispute  over  the 
attainment  of  American  rights  to  erect  factories  at  a  place 
on  the  frontier  between  France  and  Alsace-Lorraine,  in 
which  to  fabricate  domestic  goods  by  aid  of  foreign  ingre- 
dients. 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

In  lesser  monopolies  this  right  had  been  bought,  grasped, 
and  held  ;  the  ground  had  been  broken  and  built  on.  In 
the  present  case,  where  Germany  might  in  a  measure  profit 
off  the  requisite  if  merely  temporary  establishment  of  a 
colony  of  manufacturers  and  their  families,  a  hint,  adminis- 
tered through  the  Bureau  of  Foreign  Affairs,  had  rung  a 
note  of  warning  which  indicated  that  opposition  would  be 
unmitigated,  if  roused. 

"Burroughs,"  stated  Markoe  later,  in  answer  to  the 
President' s  somewhat  guarded  inquiry,  ' '  can  look  on  with 
more  ability  than  any  man  I  know.  He  is  a  good  listener, 
a  trained  observer.  He  practises  discretion  ;  he  plays  chess 
with  his  adversaries,  and  his  friends  even,  without  either  one 
of  them  suspecting  his  game,  and  he  can  manoeuvre  as 
deftly  as  an  adjutant  on  parade.  Moreover,  he  is  a  linguist 
of  no  mean  talent,  considering  the  lack  of  practice  from 
which  a  stay-at-home  suffers.  That  adjunct  of  diplomacy 
will  be  imperative  in  the  forthcoming  issue. ' ' 

Markoe  had  been  informed  of  France's  intolerance 
through  a  member  of  the  Cabinet  at  the  President's  in- 
stigation. 

' '  A  good  accent,  eh  ?' '  interpolated  the  head  of  the 
nation  slowly,  taking  up  a  palm-leaf  fan,  and  waving  it  to 
and  fro  violently,  while  conspicuously  bestowing  scant  at- 
tention upon  Markoe.  ' '  Where  did  he  acquire  his  knowl- 
edge, and,  if  I  may  ask  the  question  without  appearing 
too  personal,  why  do  you  consider  yourself  capable  of 
judging?" 

The  President's  bidden  guest  was  obliged  to  turn  his 
head  slightly  to  meet  the  eyes  of  his  interlocutor  with  his 
own.  His  were  colorless. 

The  President's  were  soft  as  the  proverbial  murmur  of  the 
sucking  dove.  Yet  the  two  resembled,  curiously  enough, 
a  pair  of  racers,  with  a  common  goal ;  achievement. 

10 


THE  AMERICAN   POINT  OF  VIEW 

"I  was  educated  in  Paris,"  vouchsafed  Markoe,  as 
though  registering  an  insignificant  afterthought.  ' '  Bur- 
roughs speaks  like  the  college-bred  American.  He  mas- 
tered his  French  grammar  once,  but  he  has  left  it,  since, 
slightly  practised.  As  far  as  he  has  gone,  it  is  presentable. 
He  judges  France, ' '  humorously,  ' '  from  the  stand-point  of 
the  traveller  who  manages  to  make  himself  understood  by 
people  whom  he  considers  not  worth  the  effort.  He  pos- 
sesses a  unique  fund  of  wit.  His  may  be  the  record  of 
having  mastered  the  game  of  the  century  with  less  expendi- 
ture of  individual  force  than  usual." 

' '  What' s  the  game  ?' '  inquired  the  President,  idly.  He 
was  turning  the  leaves  of  a  note-book  near  his  elbow.  If 
he  were  listening,  otherwise  than  superficially,  he  certainly 
accorded  diplomacy's  propounder  scant  attention  in  the 
process. 

"  Silence  first, "  retorted  Markoe,  concisely,  "conscien- 
tious concentration  next,  and  a  master  makeshift  when 
requisite.  Turn  about  is  fair  play  in  diplomacy,  love,  and 
arbitration. ' ' 

The  President  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"Your  definition,"  he  returned,  ponderously,  "  is  ade- 
quate, if  partially  prejudiced  by,  let  us  say,  enthusiasm.  I 
have  played — I  should  say  I  have  been  quoted  as  playing 
— diplomacy  myself.  Is  it  acquirable,  do  you  think,  or 
innate  ?' ' 

"  Innate,"  flashed  out  Markoe,  without  an  instant's  hesi- 
tation. 

' '  And  you  consider  Burroughs  capable  of ' ' 

1 '  Burroughs  can  play  any  role.  He  never  commits  him- 
self until  thoroughly  informed  as  to  his  opponent's  reserve. 
He  holds  the  bauble  called  success  in  the  palm  of  his 
hand." 

The  President  did  not  speak.     The  eyes  under  his  heavy 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

seamed  lids  were  invisible.  Two  moments  later  he  stirred 
slowly  ;  he  lifted  them.  They  were  dull,  comparatively 
lifeless. 

"You  think  the  affair  contains  possibilities  of  difficulty?" 

"  Undeniably.  Your  representative  will  be  on  the 
ground,  however.  He  will  study  his  hour  and  his  man. 
He  can  manipulate,  determine,  and  command  when  the 
time  is  ripe.  He  may  also  keep  himself  out  of  any  im- 
broglio by  not  creating  one. ' '  The  speaker  stopped.  An 
amused  smile  drifted  across  his  lips.  The  situation,  in  his 
opinion,  evidently  offered  scope  for  some  fine  work.  ' '  He 
will  battle  with  a  formidable  antagonist, ' '  he  added.  He 
laughed  aloud. 

"Lamballe?" 

"Lamballe." 

' '  A  conservative  ?' ' 

' '  A  radical  in  personal  matters  ;  he  was  trained  conser- 
vatively. A  conservative  as  regards  monopolies  out  of  the 
new  world  ;  not  as  to  progress  in  the  old.  Personally  one 
of  the  most  charming  of  men,  of  the  ancien  regime.  The 
ancien  regime  is  nothing  if  not  chevalresque.  I  met  him 
some  twenty  years  since  at  a  chateau  party  in  Touraine, 
where  I  went  hawking  with  a  grande  dame  of  the  French 
aristocracy  in  her  own  forest, — as  exact  as  possible  an  imi- 
tation of  Francis  I.  and  his  court.  In  Burroughs' s  case  it 
will  be  a  struggle  of  tact  and  patience  against  trained 
astuteness  and  the  consciousness  of  pedigree  of  the  dyed- 
in-the-wool  imperialist  who  has  eaten  humble  pie  for  the 
sake  of  his  personal  interests,  who  declines  it  when  it  as- 
sumes the  form  of  an  international  concession." 

"If  we  fail  ?' '  suggested  the  President. 

' '  Ah,  that  would  mean  more  than  the  exchange  of  a  few 
acres  to  us  ;  graver  results  than  the  loss  of  good  fellowship 
to  them.  The  deposit  is  an  immense  one.  The  projected 

12 


THE  AMERICAN  POINT  OF  VIEW 

industry  promises  mutual  benefits.  Theirs  is  a  dog-in-the- 
manger  policy  at  the  best.  They  don't  want  that  chalk 
bank  until  we  signify  a  regard  for  it ;  then  they  cling  to  it. 
We  are  bound  to  win,  though.  Burroughs  can  outwit 
Lamballe  in  tenacity  and  common  sense.  Besides,  his  an- 
tagonist is  too  intelligent  a  man  to  conduct  so  important  a 
contest — when  he  finds  it  contains  as  much  for  France's 
good  as  for  ours — in  anything  but  an  amicable  spirit. ' ' 

"You  mean ?" 

' '  I  mean We  have  the  map  here, ' '  drawing  a  sketchily 

traced  plan  from  his  pocket,  and  stretching  its  curled  edges 
out  flat  on  the  table  before  the  President.  ' '  You  perceive, 
there  is  not  a  stone's  throw  at  this  point  between  Alsace- 
Lorraine  and  France.  The  establishment  you  propose  to 
erect  could  stand  as  well  on  Prussian  foundation  as  on 
French  soil,  if  the  chalk  deposit  extends  across  the  border. 
Do  the  French  reject  our  offer ' ' 

"Well?" 

"We  can  treat  with  Prussia.  One  is  as  good  as  the 
other  to  us.  We  have  given  the  preference  to  France  thus 
far,  as  I  understand  it,  because  our  site  has  been  determined. 
If  she  meets  us  half  way  we  are  ready  to  embrace  her  offer 
and  cede  her  her  rights. ' ' 

' '  But  say  she  opposes  us  ?' ' 

' '  We  have  her  enemies  to  deal  with,  then.  The  land 
about  Carembourg  abounds  in  the  material  whose  principal 
ingredient  is  the  indispensable  adjunct  to  the  fulfilment  of  our 
plans.  There  is  also  the  possibility,"  continued  Markoe, 
as  he  folded  the  piece  of  badly  thumbed  paper,  to  place  it 
in  under  the  flap  of  his  vest-pocket,  ' '  of  our  being  accused 
of  collusion  with ' ' 

"With ?" 

' '  Germany. ' ' 

There  was  a  pause. 

13 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

Markoe  subjoined,  succinctly,  ' '  Burroughs  cannot  fail  if 
he  plays  the  game  as  it  should  be  played." 

1 '  I  am  pleased  to  have  learned  your  views  upon  the  sub- 
ject," remarked  his  listener  in  a  colloquial  tone  of  voice. 

Markoe  recognized  in  it  the  signal  for  his  dismissal.  He 
rose. 

' '  You  command  a  wide  scope  for  character  insearch  in 
the  profession  you  are  at  present  pursuing,  do  you  not?" 
inquired  the  President. 

Markoe  lifted  his  hat  off  the  table  before  him. 

"A  lawyer,"  he  conceded,  lightly,  "like  a  family  physi- 
cian, may  be  said  to  personally  conduct  a  private  character 
signal  bureau." 

"Do  you  never  long  to  change  your  field  of  action,  to 
extend  your  horizon,  to  use  your  hardly  acquired  knowl- 
edge pro  bono  publico  rather  than  lock  its  mammoth  use- 
fulness within  your  own  breast  ?' ' 

Markoe  stooped  and  picked  up  a  paper  which  had  fallen 
to  the  floor.  He  laid  it  neatly  in  its  place  before  answering. 

' '  I  have  at  times  believed  myself  to  be  possessed  of  fac- 
ulties which  are  as  yet  unawakened,"  he  finally  returned 
with  deliberation,  ' '  but,  up  to  the  present,  no  one  else  hav- 
ing suspected  them,  I  have  deemed  it  wiser  to  keep  them 
dormant. ' ' 

He  colored  a  trifle,  as  though  proved  guilty  of  an  unen- 
viable weakness. 

The  President  rose  and  walked  with  his  guest  towards 
the  door. 

"  It's  a  pity  to  waste  anything,"  he  remarked.  "  Good 
morning." 

Markoe  crossed  the  threshold.      He  closed  the  door. 

The  President  stood  on  the  spot  where  he  had  taken  leave 
of  his  guest  for  some  seconds. 

Then  he  spoke. 

14 


COUNTERPARTS 

His  words  broke  against  the  silence  of  the  room  like  bell- 
strokes  on  a  cylinder.  Their  import  conveyed  a  picture 
quaint  and  Puritan-  haunted.  They  were  not  new,  neither 
were  they  original.  Between  the  lines  an  attentive  reader 
could  have  discovered  a  gentle  rebuke,  some  humor,  and  a 
settled  resolve. 

"  'Why  don't  you  speak  for  yourself,  John?'  "  asked 
the  President. 

A  week  later,  by  cable  and  otherwise,  was  announced 
to  the  civilized  world  the  detail  of  a  totally  unexpected 
appointment  : 

"As  United  States  Ambassador  at  Paris,  Stephen  W. 
Markoe.  '  ' 


CHAPTER   II 

COUNTERPARTS 

MARKOE,  notwithstanding  his  modest  opinion  of  himself, 
had  some  years  before  considerably  stirred  the  sanctum 
sanctorum  of  New  York's  upper  set  by  his  uncommonly 
clever  handling  of  a  divorce  suit  which  had  been  far  on  the 
way  to  becoming  a  cause  celebre. 

It  had  been  whispered  that  the  suppression  of  what  might 
have  been  a  nauseating  record  of  nineteenth  century  eroto- 
mania owed  itself  to  this  eminent  lawyer's  tactful  adjustment 
of  secret  difficulties  ;  that  a  prominent  household  which 
headed  that  army  of  martyrs  facetiously  denominated  as 
the  "heavy  swells,"  owed  its  present  glowing  conjugal 
prosperity  to  this  wary  friend  and  adviser,  who  had  known 
just  when  and  how  to  take  the  bull  by  the  horns. 

What  also  edified  the  onlookers  was  the  fact  that  Markoe 
appeared  totally  undesirous  of  the  prominence  his  treatment 

'5 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

of  the  case  lent  him.  He  had  since  pursued  the  unruffled 
tenor  of  his  intellectual  way  apparently  unaware  of  any 
benefit  which  might  have  accrued  to  him  therefrom. 

His  wife,  one  of  those  winsome,  graceful  creatures  with 
which  the  world  is  too  seldom  endowed,  had  drawn  a  little 
circle  of  her  own  close  about  her.  She  was  sought  far  and 
near,  because  she  dared  to  carve  her  own  groove  in  social 
matters  and  hold  to  it.  This  requires  more  moral  courage 
than  is  popularly  admitted.  Mrs.  Markoe  was  about  fifteen 
years  her  husband's  junior.  Three  years  before  this  story 
opens  she  had  been  one  of  the  season's  beauties. 

When  Markoe  was  notified  of  the  honor  the  President 
had  conferred  upon  him  he  realized  at  once  that,  added  to 
his  personal  and  official  household,  he  would  stand  in  need 
of  a  sturdy  helper  ;  a  friend  who,  with  time  to  spare,  an 
ample  income  to  call  upon,  and  ability  of  no  mean  order, 
must  be  close  at  hand  to  perform  deeds  of  equal  energy 
and  tact. 

He  first  sought  this  paragon,  without  disclosing  his  need, 
among  his  constituents, — almost  immediately  to  arrive  at 
the  conclusion  that  it  was  not  in  the  ranks  of  the  diligent 
that  he  was  to  discover  what  he  sought.  Neither  among 
the  seekers  for  place  was  he  to  fall  upon  the  individual  to 
fill  the  difficult  post  which  he  had  elected  to  make.  The 
office  would  be,  obviously,  unremunerative  ;  the  mission 
obscure,  possibly  thankless.  He  could  not  request  that  an 
able  worker,  well  established,  should  throw  up  a  good  posi- 
tion for  a  possibly  bad  one.  He  had  neither  the  right  nor 
the  inclination.  What  he  could  do,  however,  was  to  seek 
a  young  person  of  as  yet  unacknowledged  proficiency  among 
the  rank  and  file  of  idlers  which  constituted  so  large  a  ma- 
jority of  his  social  acquaintances. 

Markoe  held  an  idler  in  the  faintly  contemptuous  estima- 
tion of  most  men  of  his  calibre  who  have  struggled  from 

16 


COUNTERPARTS 

preference  rather  than  by  force  of  positive  need.  The  man 
who  did  nothing  more  arduous  than  ride  across  country 
after  the  fox  with  the  hounds,  the  man  who  drifted  from 
summer  sea  to  summer  sea  in  a  perfectly  appointed  yacht 
searching  for  new  sensations,  the  man  who  led  cotillons, 
who  golfed  inordinately,  and  flirted  subordinately,  the 
pleasure-seeker,  the  misanthrope,  and  often,  in  conse- 
quence, the  voluptuary  and  the  sceptic,  he  considered  in- 
significant. 

His  acquaintances,  the  young  millionaires,  he  adjudged, 
perhaps  unjustly,  to  be  incompetent.  They  exemplified  a 
class  that  was  comparatively  obnoxious  to  him  in  its  reck- 
less expenditure  of  seemingly  misused  force.  But,  oddly 
enough,  he  made  his  choice  from  among  their  rank  and 
file. 

He  obtained  his  first  glimpse  of  Jack  Conway  when  the 
latter  was  riding  across  country.  Markoe  stood  in  a  buck- 
wheat-field giving  final  directions  to  his  head  gardener  con- 
cerning his  stewardship  during  the  coming  Ambassador's 
enforced  absence  from  the  United  States. 

The  young  figure  came  whirling  through  the  air,  which 
was  spicily  fragrant  with  the  odor  of  pine,  like  an  embodi- 
ment of  vim  and  recklessness.  The  mare  on  which  he  was 
astride  was  a  beast  with  clean  fetlocks  and  roving  eyes, 
fiery,  neatly  set  up,  and  thoroughbred,  like  her  rider. 

The  two  cleared  a  stone  wall  with  ease.  Markoe  drew 
back  instinctively  as  she  trotted  forward  to  slip  her  nose 
into  Fownes's  evidently  familiar  hand. 

"She's  a  daisy,  Fownes,  and  no  mistake,"  cried  the 
young  fellow,  cheerily,  as  he  slid  off  her  back,  and  began 
beating  the  mud  from  his  top-boots  with  his  whip. 

His  eyes  then  fell  on  Markoe.     He  lifted  his  riding-cap, 

disclosing  a  small,  well-formed  head.     It  was  adorned  with 

/i  ebon  hair  parted   straight  in  the  middle  and  slicked  down 

'7 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

at  both  sides  after  the  fashion  of  the  day,  a  deep,  rich  olive 
complexion,  a  clean-cut  nose,  and  a  mouth  which  was 
marked  with  a  curiously  distinct  expression  of  race  and 
will. 

"She's  been  heatin'  'er 'ead  hoff,  Mister  Jack,  an'  no 
mistake  !  H'  it' s  a  pity  you  cawn'  t  come  down  of  ner  to '  er. 
She's  a  beauty,"  said  Fownes. 

"Too  far,"  returned  Jack,  laconically.  He  was  looking 
at  his  watch  already. 

' '  I  say,  Fownes, ' '  he  added,  rapidly,  with  an  apologetic 
gesture  towards  Markoe, — a  gesture  which  meant,  "You'll 
understand  ;  I  haven't  time  to  explain," — "run  her  down 
to  the  stable,  will  you,"  pointing  to  a  barn  some  rods 
distant ;  "you'll  find  a  boy  there  to  attend  to  her.  Haven't 
time  to  do  it  myself  and  catch  the  train.  Miscalculated." 
He  pitched  Fownes  a  quarter,  and  made  off.  There  was 
the  whistle  of  the  locomotive. 

In  a  second  the  tall,  slim  figure  had  scrambled  across  the 
top  rail  of  a  neighboring  fence,  and  was  scurrying  across 
an  open  field  in  hot  haste.  Markoe  and  Fownes  watched 
him  anxiously  until  he  was  dragged  ignominiously  to  the 
platform  of  the  train  just  moving  off. 

The  young  fellow  waved  his  cap  to  them  gleefully,  after 
he  had  gathered  himself  to  his  feet. 

"Jack  who?"  inquired  Markoe,  idly. 

"  Conway,  sir.  'Is  mother  owns  that  big  place,  Gnarl- 
wood,  up  in  Westchester  County.  '  E'  s  the  richest  visitor 
in  these  parts,  an'  as  easy-goin'  an'  simple  as  a  child. 
There  ain'  t  a  cat  about  '  ere  but  luvs  '  im.  '  As  more  than 
fifteen  'osses  down  below  there  at  Tuttles's  trainin'  fur  a 
steeple-chase  that's  comin'  hoff  at  White  Plains  next  month. 
'E'sasport  an'  no  mistake.  There  ain't  a  blud  in  the 
ole  country  could  beat  'im  fur  luv  o'  hanimals. " 

It  was  plain  that  Fownes  knew  of  what  he  spoke. 

18 


COUNTERPART 

' '  Conway  !' '  ejaculated  Markoe.  ' '  Not  the  son  of  Mrs. 
Livingstone  Conway  ?  But  yes,  yes," — as  Fownes  began  to 
scratch  his  head  dubiously, — ' '  to  be  sure.  He  must  be  that 
age  by  this  time.  How  time  flies  !  He  is  the  same  indi- 
vidual of  whom  Somers  spoke  to  me  recently." 

"  'E's  a  thoroughbred,  sir,"  confirmed  Fownes  solemnly. 

' '  Why,  there  ain'  t  a  groom  on  Long  Island  don' t  luv 
Mister  Jack.  '  E'  s  that  friendly-like. ' ' 

"Mm,"  rejoined  Markoe. 

Later  he  escorted  his  wife  to  a  ball  at  the  Randolphs 

The  cotillon  took  place  after  supper.  Its  leader  was 
Jack  Conway.  From  remarks  that  were  let  fall  here  and 
there  Markoe  had  already  discovered  him  to  be  one  of  the 
most  popular  in  the  dancing  set. 

He  learned,  moreover,  that  he  was  feared  a  little  for  his 
cut  and  dried  cynicisms  and  expressed  distaste  for  anything 
but  the  most  daring  of  escapades,  and  adored  for  his  devo- 
tion to  his  mother,  to  whom  he  owed  his  position  of  social 
prominence,  and  for  the  enormous  wealth  over  which  she 
stood  trustee. 

Mrs.  Conway  was  a  widow.  She  was  exceedingly  beau- 
tiful. Blessed  with  a  large  personal  income  she  had  married 
a  colossal  fortune,  and  at  the  same  time  given  evidence  of 
superlatively  cool  judgment. 

In  many  respects  she  was  a  remarkable  woman.  She 
was  an  acknowledged  leader,  could  unmake  social  reputa- 
tions with  a  shrug  of  her  polished  shoulders,  and  bestowed 
her  attention  on  nothing  unworthy  of  her  consideration. 
For  her  seldom  mistaken  perspicacity  she  was  an  acknowl- 
edged power  in  her  world. 

Naturally  that  world  had  accepted  her  at  her  own  valua- 
tion,— an  apparently  exalted  one. 

If  it  forgot,  in  its  subservience  to  her  great  wealth,  that 
character  alone  has  been  known  to  merit  distinction,  this 

19 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

was  possibly  because  that  major  supremacy  is  often  over- 
looked in  the  rush  and  go  of  life  by  those  who  hold  high 
places. 

The  cotillon,  held  in  the  famous  Louis  XIV.  drawing- 
room,  was  as  pretty  a  sight  as  even  an  overworked  man  of 
the  world,  a  little  disgruntled  with  a  coming  revolution  in 
his  methodical  arrangements,  could  have  wished. 

In  the  midst  of  the  third  set  the  dancers  got  tangled  up 
through  lack  of  attentiveness  or  effervescence  of  spirits. 

Conway  had  been  unflagging  in  his  attempts  to  make  the 
affair  a  success.  A  close  observer  could  have  seen  his  heart 
was  not  in  it.  He  preferred  a  clover-patch  to  a  boudoir. 
That  preference,  up  to  the  present,  was  the  healthiest  germ 
in  him. 

But  when  his  favorite  figure  bade  fair  to  become  an 
enigma,  the  leader,  with  a  slight  flush  on  his  face,  cleared 
the  middle  of  the  room  with  a  gesture,  knelt  on  one  knee 
quietly,  dotted,  with  a  pencil,  starting-points  on  the  polished 
floor,  summarily  ordered  the  dancers  into  line, — as  though 
they  were  his  regiment  and  he  their  captain, — and  in  five 
minutes  the  set  was  what  he  had  determined  it  should  be  in 
the  beginning, — a  mathematical  calculation. 

He  barred  it  off  later  with  bands  of  white  and  rose-colored 
satin  ribbon.  As  the  couples  filed  by  slowly,  to  the  tune  of 
a  Waldteufel  march,  the  applause  from  the  onlookers  was 
tremendous  and  unstinted. 

A  half-hour  later  Markoe  approached  him. 

Conway' s  was  a  nervous,  passionate  face  with  Spanish 
eyes  and  blood-red  lips  ;  an  odd  face  among  those  Anglo- 
Saxon  ones  with  their  perfect  control  of  feature,  and  the 
retentive  expression  in  the  eyes  which  passes  unremarked 
unless  compared  with  less  well -governed  countenances. 
His  conversation  was  vivid.  He  could  turn  a  speech  into 
a  picture  with  three  words.  There  was  surplus  vitality  in 

20 


COUNTERPARTS 

his  light  poise  which  was  essentially  magnetic.  He  talked 
like  one  who,  to  conceal  the  effort  it  cost  to  walk  un- 
scathed across  hot  ploughshares,  such  as  age,  death,  and 
loss,  emitted  platitudes  and  epigrams  whose  mission  was 
to  conceal  the  shudder  this  chance  victim  apprehended. 

"Ingenious,"  remarked  Markoe  in  his  vibrant  voice, 
pointing  to  the  dots  on  the  floor  near  them,  as  he  ap- 
proached. 

Conway  glanced  across  his  shoulder  at  the  speaker.  He 
clapped  his  hands  for  the  dancers  to  secure  partners. 

' '  I  am  something  of  a  landscape-gardener, ' '  he  ex- 
plained, smiling.  "My  mother's  place  at  Gnarlwood, 
you  know.  It  fretted  her  when  I  imported  a  green  hand, 
and  couldn't  apprentice  him.  I  have  too  much  time  on 
my  hands." 

He  gazed  dubiously  at  his  slender  palms.  They  were 
olive-stained,  like  his  face. 

"Enjoy  planning?"  inquired  Markoe,  quietly,  the  next 
time  the  intricacies  of  the  dance  brought  Conway  in  his 
direction.  Markoe  was  not  dancing  himself. 

"  My  lean  is  in  that  direction,"  returned  Conway.  "  I 
fancy  I  have  a  latent  talent  for  craggy  projects  which  demand 
manceuvring  and  mediocre  ability." 

"  Would  you  like  to  use  it?"  inquired  Markoe.  His 
voice  was  animated. 

Conway  was  twisting  his  small  black  moustache  reflec- 
tively. He  had  been  looking  down.  He  looked  up. 

' '  I  like  anything, ' '  he  ejaculated,  with  a  glance  about 
him  to  make  sure  he  was  not  heard,  "anything,  that  is, 
which  means  work  instead  of  play,  life  in  place  of  stagnation. 
I  envy, ' '  harshly, — it  was  astonishing  the  bitterness  the  mere 
words  conveyed,  — "  I  have  always  envied  the  laboring  man 
who  earns  his  right  to  rest."  His  eyes  were  sombre  as 
they  met  the  steady  orbs  bent  full  upon  him. 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

Markoe  nodded. 

He  made  Conway  feel  that  he  attached  small  value  to  his 
words,  but  that  their  import  nevertheless  was  with  him  in 
its  most  exalted  sense. 

' '  Handicapped, ' '  he  let  forth  abruptly.  Conway  distrib- 
uted garlands  of  la  France  roses  among  the  dancers,  and 
set  the  orchestra,  which  was  concealed  in  the  gallery  above, 
to  playing  the  pas  de  quatre  before  he  answered,  ' '  What  ?' ' 

There  were  two  perpendicular  lines  between  his  eyes 
which  seemed  to  have  taken  their  place  by  right.  He  was 
contemplating  Markoe  with  a  puzzled  expression.  "  I 
can' t  altogether  see  what  you  mean  by  '  handicapped, '  "  he 
ejaculated,  aggressively,  after  a  moment's  reflection. 

Markoe  leaned  against  the  wall  mutely  regarding  the 
dancers. 

"  You've  been  coddled  too  much,"  he  explained,  finally. 
"You  need " 

"  I  need ?"  urged  Conway,  eagerly. 

"Jostling." 

"  How  the  deuce  did  you  discover  that  ?"  demanded  Con- 
way,  abruptly. 

Markoe  did  not  answer.  He  had  a  fashion  of  making 
his  silence  convey  more  than  his  speech. 

Ten  minutes  afterwards, — Conway  had  been  taken  out  re- 
peatedly, and  deferred  to  by  more  than  one  man  for  pre- 
sentation,— Markoe  remarked  nonchalantly,  "You'd  like 
to  fight  wild  tigers,  eh  ?' ' 

Conway  started. 

"Would  I?"  he  rejoined. 

"  Why  not  men?"  inquired  Markoe,  tentatively. 

"Do  you  call  these  men,"  asked  Conway,  contemptu- 
ously. He  waved  a  nervous  hand  in  two  or  three  direc- 
tions ;  it  fell  to  his  side  limply. 

' '  I  presume  you  have  heard  of  my  appointment  ?' ' 


COUNTERPARTS 

"Naturally,"  responded  Conway.  The  sympathetic 
lines  under  his  moustache  quivered,  and  then  grew  still. 
"  Allow  me  to  seize  this  occasion  in  which  to  congratulate 
you." 

Markoe  bowed. 

' '  The  great  man, ' '  he  stated, — Conway  suddenly  realized 
that  the  lines  at  the  corners  of  the  speaker's  eyes  were 
essentially  keen  and  shrewd, — ' '  is  he  who  grasps  his  oppor- 
tunity." The  statement  seemed  impersonal.  It  was  not. 

' '  I  am  glad  the  American  nation  is  to  be  represented  by 
a  citizen  of  whom  we  are  so  justly  proud,"  cried  Conway, 
in  a  sort  of  burst  which  was  unusual  to  him. 

' '  Drop  that,  will  you  ?' '  interpolated  Markoe.  He  lifted 
his  right  arm  involuntarily,  the  hand  across  his  eyes,  the 
elbow  upward,  as  though  warding  off  a  blow. 

"It's  true,"  insisted  Conway,  obstinately,  "  and  I'm  not 
the  first  one  to ' ' 

' '  Would  you  like  to  accompany  me  ?' '  inquired  Markoe. 

Conway  turned  unsteadily,  and  looked  straight  at  him 
now.  He  thought  his  hearing  was  becoming  defective.  It 
was  a  whole  hour  after  supper.  He  wondered. 

"  Because  if  you  wish  it,"  continued  Markoe,  "I  have 
a  post  at  my  disposal  which  I  am  inclined  to  believe  you 
might  fill." 

' '  But , ' '  ejaculated  Conway. 

' '  But  me  no  buts, ' '  interpolated  the  coming  Ambassador, 
with  a  twinkle.  ' '  The  question  is,  will  you  drop  all  this, 
and  do  the  work  I  shall  set  you  at  in  Paris  and  out  of  it  ? 
It  may  be  a  thankless  task.  It  may  be  a  glorious  one. 
The  situation  contains,  in  any  case,"  he  stopped  a  moment 
as  though  searching  for  the  word  which  would  most  clearly 
express  his  meaning,  "meat,"  he  subjoined. 

"Am  I  fit  for  it?" 

' '  Will  you  go,  or  won' t  you  ?' '  impatiently. 

23 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

Conway's  hand  shot  out  from  his  side,  and  grasped  the 
powerful  one  which  was  extended  towards  him. 

"  I  go,"  he  said,  as  though  registering  a  vow. 

"Thanks,  don't  mention  it,"  returned  Markoe,  color- 
lessly. Made  aware  of  an  advancing  couple  he  dodged 
back,  and  took  up  his  nonchalant  position  against  the  wall. 

"It's  not  official,"  he  remarked  to  his  wife  in  relating 
the  circumstance,  "but  that's  my  business." 


CHAPTER   III 

AT   GNARLWOOD 

MRS.  LIVINGSTONE  CONWAY  was  giving  a  high  tea  in 
honor  of  the  newly-appointed  Ambassador  to  France.  The 
function  was  held  in  her  famous  scarlet  dining-room.  All 
New  York  had  come,  in  drags  and  by  rail,  to  glorify  and 
be  presented. 

The  guest  of  the  day,  having  concluded  a  conspicuously 
indigestible  repast,  stood  chatting  with  his  predecessor  in 
a  window  embrasure  at  the  end  of  the  beautiful  room.  The 
ex-  Ambassador's  countenance,  freshened  with  outdoor  exer- 
cise, ruddy,  and  lit  by  a  pair  of  fiery  blue  orbs,  was  alert. 
He  was  two  inches  taller  than  his  smooth-faced,  steel-eyed 
interlocutor. 

He  measured  the  latter'  s  outward  stature  deprecatingly 
as  the  two  exchanged  opinions. 

'  '  The  place  has  its  disadvantages,  '  '  he  affirmed.  '  '  The 
French  possess  one  talent  which  they  have  trained  to  per- 
fection, —  adaptability.  France's  sins  may  be  laid  at  the 
door  of  too  ardent  an  appreciation  of  beauty,  always.  '  ' 

1  '  I  am  told  you  regretted  the  place  when  it  was  with- 
drawn. Have  I  been  correctly  informed  ?'  ' 

24 


AT   GNARLWOOD 

"I  did,  and  did  not.  For  my  family's  interests  the 
post  was  most  alluring.  For  my  own Well,  I  con- 
fess, I  was  balked.  Now  that  I  look  back  it  appears  to 
me  that  the  courtesy  I  received  concealed  many  things 
the  value  of  which  I,  at  the  time,  ignored.  I  may  be  mis- 
taken. One  is  apt  to  doubt  even  hindsight  when  beaten. 
As  diplomatists  they  are  superlatively  accomplished.  The 
Anglo-Saxon  must  look  to  it  in  the  future  if  he  hopes 
to  excel  in  astuteness.  The  Gaul  will  vanquish  every 
time." 

' '  You  speak  advisedly  ?' ' 

' '  Yes.  I  will  do  even  more.  I  will  bid  you  beware  of 
one  Parisian.  He  is  frankly  opposed  to  our  new-world 
claims.  As  a  power  he  is  almost  immeasurable.  That 
sounds  exaggerated.  It  is  not.  I  accustomed  myself  to 
regarding  him  as  an  edition  de  luxe  of  a  Scotland  Yard  de- 
tective, so  thorough  is  his  knowledge  of  foreign  and  do- 
mestic affairs.  His  name  is  Ferdinand  Lamballe." 

Markoe'  s  expression  altered  very  slightly.  ' '  Enlighten 
me,"  he  suggested. 

' '  Lamballe, ' '  began  the  ex- Ambassador,  a  stinging  bit- 
terness in  his  tone,  ' '  has  risen  from  the  ranks,  in  spite  of  his 
pedigree.  His  property  was  confiscated  in  his  youth. 
Unlike  his  titled  contemporaries  he  did  not  meekly  accept 
his  fate.  He  did  what  the  French  call  ' '  lutter. ' '  That  is, 
he  exhibited  from  the  first  a  keen  desire  to  tussle  for  his  share 
of  life.  When  I  was  in  France  one  side  of  his  prismatic 
genius  was  bent  upon  the  drama.  He  was  presenting  a 
series  of  satires  which  laid  bare  the  idiosyncrasies  of  his 
contemporaries.  By  a  fairly  considerable  minority  he  was 
cordially  detested  for  his  pains.  Added  to  the  notoriety 
he  attained  as  public  censor  of  human  nature's  foibles, — he 
expresses  an  inordinate  dislike  for  humbug, — he  was  con- 
ducting at  one  and  the  same  time  a  syndicate  which  gov- 

25 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

erned  numerous  lesser  syndicates.  The  man  is  unique 
inasmuch  as  he  writes  criticisms  of  his  own  plays  in  such 
perfection  that  they  alone  are  seized  by  the  public  with 
avidity, — thus  insuring  success.  He  is  beloved  by  many, 
because  he  rarely  hesitates  to  do  his  opponents  full  justice 
at  his  own  expense.  That  is  the  reason  I  never  lose  the 
chance  to  award  the  French  character  the  palm  for  ap- 
preciation. Lamballe  more  than  once  has  been  suspected 
of  acknowledging  an  opponent's  superiority,  even  in 
defeat." 

' '  Ah  !    You  admit,  then,  that  he  may  be  defeated  ?' ' 

' '  Who  can  tell  ?  He  is  the  man  to  whom  I  alluded  when 
I  said  I  had  been  '  balked.'  " 

' '  May  I  inquire,  inasmuch  as  you  have  gone  so  far  ?' ' 

"It  is  your  due.  The  affair  at  issue  was  one  whose  con- 
summation would  have  in  no  manner  whatsoever  jeopardized 
the  welfare  of  France.  Indeed,  rather  would  it  have  in- 
sured her  prosperity  by  inculcating  a  novel  branch  of 
industry.  Outside  of  the  duties  coincident  with  a  foreign 
post  I  was  intrusted  with  a  secret  mission.  I  failed. ' ' 

"The  mission?" 

"The  establishment  at  Carembourg,  near  Alsace-Lor- 
raine, of  a  mammoth  factory  in  which  to  fabricate  home 
goods  by  aid  of  foreign  material  which  can  only  be  obtained 
on  the  frontier. ' ' 

' '  Foiled  ?' '  asked  Markoe.  His  suddenly  animated  tone 
contained  a  strident  note. 

"  More.  I  was  duped,  played,  magnificently  played. 
In  the  end  the  subject  was  courteously  closed.  In  this 
Lamballe' s  hand  was  invisible.  I  learned  of  that  later.  It 
seems  that  nationally  he  bears  us  no  grudge,  but  that  per- 
sonally he  abhors  our  increasing  monopolies.  He  had  de- 
termined to  score.  He  scored. 

' '  But  surely  you  could  have  forced  his  hand,  discovered 

26 


AT  GNARLWOOD 

the  root  of  his  power  !  One  man  may  not  buy  up  a  fron- 
tier, nor  control  it,  nor  refuse  it.  The  assumption  is  ab- 
surd. He  must  have  governed  some  pull  you  overlooked. ' ' 

"  His  power  consists  in  knowing  his  man,"  returned  the 
ex- Ambassador,  dryly.  ' '  Lamballe'  s  victims  are  only  made 
aware,  after  having  been  cut  to  pieces,  of  their  total  inability 
to  put  themselves  together  again." 

' '  There  might  be  a  way, ' '  remarked  Markoe. 

' '  You  say ?' '  ejaculated  the  ex- Ambassador  with  an 

astonished  expression. 

"  I  say  there  might  have  been  a  way." 

"And  that  way  ?"  ironically. 

Markoe  did  not  answer.  He  was  gazing  absently  at  a 
rift  in  the  clouds  outside.  The  young  moon  looked  through. 
' '  You  say  he  is  benevolent  ?' '  he  inquired,  irrelevantly,  after 
some  moments. 

"He  is  called  the  '  patented  moralist  of  France,'  "  stated 
the  ex- Ambassador,  with  obvious  incredulity. 

' '  Did  you  know  him  personally  ?' ' 

' '  No.  He  eludes  as  successfully  as  he  precludes.  Albeit 
the  air  is  alive  with  his  epigrams,  the  stage  charged  with  his 
witticisms,  the  boulevards  ringing  with  his  name,  he  is  hard 
to  find.  Those  who  have  met  him  call  him  a  philanthropist. 
I  have  been  told  he  is  personally  a  dangerously  fascinating 
man." 

"  Could  you  not  command?" 

' '  In  my  position  ?  That  would  have  too  forcibly  em- 
phasized acknowledged  impotence.  You  must  remember 
that  it  was  only  later  I  discovered  the  magnitude  of  his 
reach. ' ' 

' '  With  whom  did  you  treat  ?' ' 

"With  men  in  his  employ.  Their  name  is  legion." 
The  ex -Ambassador  glanced  about  him.  He  leaned  for- 
ward guardedly.  "It  was  a  defeat  I  have  never  for- 

27 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

given,"  he  murmured,  in  a  sibilant  whisper,  through  his 
teeth,  "  a  lock  to  which  only  he  holds  the  key." 

'  '  I  feel  honored  by  your  confidence,  '  '  observed  Markoe. 

'  '  There  is  no  impotence  so  aggravating  as  that  of  en- 
forced inaction,"  hissed  the  ex-  Ambassador.  His  face  was 
congested.  His  eyes  were  a  trifle  bloodshot. 

"  To  an  American,  you  should  qualify,"  subjoined  Mar- 
koe, flashing  a  keen  glance  at  the  speaker.  Then  he  said, 
tersely,  "  You  are  right.  The  only  way,"  he  added,  —  he 
had  turned  towards  a  charming  feminine  figure  advancing 
towards  them,  —  "  is  to  reopen  fire  with  bigger  guns." 

"Tell  me,"  cried  Mrs.  Markoe,  "is  it  endurable,  —  the 
colony  ?'  ' 


CHAPTER    IV 

AN   UNCONDITIONAL    COMPACT 

"THE  American  colony,"  replied  the  ex-  Ambassador, 
"  is  a  law  unto  itself."  He  was  smiling  broadly.  "It  is 
made  up  of  people  who  possess  the  courage  of  their  con- 
victions, if  seldom  that  of  other  people.  I  cannot  answer 
whether  or  no  you  will  fancy  it,  but  of  one  thing  I  am  cer- 
tain," —  he  had  moved  towards  Mrs.  Markoe,  in  a  courtly 
fashion  he  lifted  her  hand  and  laid  it  across  his  coat-sleeve, 
he  evidently  proposed  to  lead  her  across  the  French  win- 
dow-sill into  the  conservatory  beyond  ;  but  Mrs.  Markoe 
had  other  views,  she  recoiled  almost  imperceptibly,  —  "of 
one  thing  I  am  certain,  '  '  reiterated  the  ex  -Ambassador,  con- 
tinuing his  speech,  albeit  evidently  somewhat  nonplussed, 
"and  that  is,  that  the  colony  will  be  more  than  able  to 
'endure'  Mrs.  Markoe." 

Mrs.  Markoe  looked  up  at  him.  She  wore  a  huge  black 

28 


AN   UNCONDITIONAL   COMPACT 

hat.  It  cast  so  deep  a  shadow  across  her  face  that  her 
expression  was  barely  visible.  She  stood  with  her  back 
to  the  light.  The  ex- Ambassador  faced  it. 

' '  Why  ?' '  inquired  Mrs.  Markoe.  There  was  so  positive 
a  dignity  in  the  carriage  of  her  graceful  head  that  the  ex- 
Ambassador,  for  once  in  his  life,  feared  his  compliment 
might  have  been  too  broad. 

' '  Because  you  are  new, ' '  retorted  he,  remembering  his 
foreign  experience, — which  had  "  made  him  quite  odious," 
Mrs.  Markoe  was  reflecting  at  this  precise  moment, — "  and 
because  you  are  true." 

'  'Are  not  the  members  of  the  American  colony  both  new 
and  true  ?' '  demanded  Mrs.  Markoe. 

' '  It  would  be  unadvisable  for  me  to  confess  it,  had  I 
been  so  unfortunate  as  to  prove  them  otherwise,"  finally 
returned  the  ex- Ambassador,  slightly  discountenanced,  for 
the  moment,  at  so  unexpected  an  onslaught. 

"  Quite  so,"  replied  Mrs.  Markoe,  thinking  to  herself,  "  I 
wonder  what  they  proved  you. "  "Be  merciful  to  that  poor 
orchid,"  she  pleaded,  softly,  a  moment  later, — the  ex- Am- 
bassador's fingers  were  fumbling  at  the  orchid  in  his  button- 
hole. ' '  I  desire  your  advice  concerning  some  matters  con- 
nected with  foreign  household  management,  about  which 
you,  and  you  alone,  can  enlighten  me.  Come." 

She  had  walked  a  little  away  from  him  towards  the  con- 
servatory. She  was  looking  back.  "Will  you  come," 
she  asked,  "and  look  at  Mrs.  Conway's  latest  acquisition 
in  palms, — if  not  a  '  new,'  quite  the  rarest,  variety?" 

They  strolled  across  the  threshold. 

' '  Here  at  my  right,  please, ' '  urged  Mrs.  Conway  with  a 
welcoming  gesture  as,  glancing  up,  she  perceived  Markoe  al; 
her  elbow.  ' '  And  so  we  are  to  be  neighbors,  and  in  Paris  ?' ' 
she  said. 

29 


A  NEW   RACE  .DIPLOMATIST 

"The  most  delightful  of  contingencies,"  murmured 
Markoe. 

' '  What  rare  ability  has  that  bad  boy  of  mine  ever  dis- 
played that  you  should  flatter  him  to  such  an  extent  ?' ' 

"Hush,"  whispered  Markoe.  "I  beg  your  pardon," 
as  Mrs.  Convvay  cast  him  a  slightly  astonished  glance, 
"Jack,  with  you,  is  perhaps  ignorant  that  full  justice  may 
not  be  done  to  our  cause,  are  we  suspected  of  strategy. ' ' 

"  Is  it  all  quite  fair  ?' ' 

The  question  was  brief.  The  splendid  blue  eyes  were 
searching. 

' '  All  is  fair  in  love  and  war.  The  American  at  home  is 
perfectly  equipped.  Abroad  he  is  more  or  less  in  the  dark. 
We  must  not  leave  a  stone  unturned,  Jack  and  I,  to  make 
ourselves  valuable." 

' '  To  your  friends  ?  You  are  valuable. ' '  The  statement 
was  made  with  unusual  conviction  for  a  woman  of  Mrs. 
Conway's  reserve. 

' '  Pardon  me.  To  our  government.  Nothing  exists 
diplomatically  until  it  has  been  proven." 

' '  Thank  you.  I  am  deeply  grateful.  You  will  teach 
Jack  much.  But  wherefore  Jack  ?  Although  his  mother, 
I  confess  I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand  why  you  should 
have  selected  my  boy  to  aid  you  in  your  campaign. ' ' 

' '  There  are  worse  boys, ' '  remarked  Markoe,  guardedly. 
The  speaker's  eyes  were  roving  in  search  of  their  young 
friend.  He  was  not  visible.  Jack  had  been  called  off,  ob- 
viously, to  attend  to  one  of  his  guests. 

"Worse?  Yes.  Idler?  No.  Less  ambitious?  Per- 
haps. Until  now  there  has  been  nothing  I  could  find  which 
would  rouse  him.  It  has  almost  seemed  to  me  at  times 
that  this" — waving  her  hand  towards  her  guests  and  all  the 
glowing,  exquisite  room  contained — "has  cramped  and 
crippled  Jack  instead  of  enlarging  his  sphere,  as  I  had  in- 

30 


AN   UNCONDITIONAL   COMPACT 

tended  it  should  ;  that  the  one  thing  requisite  which  might 

have  brought  him  out  I  could  not  give  him  ;.  and  yet " 

she  sighed. 

"And  that  thing  is ?"  Markoe  leaned  forward  ;  he 

was  listening  intently.  His  head  was  bent  upon  his  chest. 
His  arms  were  folded. 

' '  Adversity. ' ' 

' '  We  never  can  tell  until  we  try, ' '  vouchsafed  Markoe, 
perfunctorily. 

' '  Paris  holds  memories, ' '  said  Mrs.  Conway ,  dreamily,  a 
little  later. 

"  Memories?" 

"  My  girlhood  dreams.  And  the  empire  I  thought  my 
kingdom  in  those  glad  young  days,  when  I  had  all  my 
life  ahead  of  me,  and  my  illusions  were  given  full  play  ; 
and " 

She  stopped. 

Markoe,  for  an  instant,  thought  she  had  been  going  to  be 
guilty  of  a  confidence  ;  but  as  her  face  paled  a  little,  her 
lips  took  on  a  firm  expression.  She  lifted  her  eyes.  ' '  It 
was  the  happiest  and  the  saddest  period  of  my  life,"  she 
said.  ' '  It  seemed  the  end,  then  ;  I  find  now  it  was  only 
the  beginning." 

"You  married?"  said  Markoe. 

' '  Yes, ' '  she  answered,  quietly,  ' '  afterwards.  One  always 
marries — afterwards. ' ' 

In  the  conservatory  Mrs.  Markoe,  after  a  prolonged 
interview  with  the  ex -Ambassador,  during  which  she  had 
been  egregiously  bored,  and  he  considerably  enlightened  as 
to  the  mutinous  charm  of  the  coming  Ambassadress, — "a 
remarkably  brilliant  woman,  my  dear," — he  confided  to  the 
wife  of  his  bosom,  later,  a  confidence  which  she  received 
with  a  sniff,  Mrs.  Markoe  was  moving  from  plant  to  plant 
with  a  rapturous  expression,  and  giving  vent  now  and  then 

31 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

to  little  exclamations  of  delight.  She  had  dismissed  her 
cavalier  under  pretence  of  a  desire  to  be  alone  a  few  mo- 
ments for  rest. 

She  did  not  see  Jack  Conway  come  through  the  door- 
way and  stand  transfixed  at  the  picture  she  made.  There 
was  a  tendril  of  bronze  hair  which  had  escaped  from  its 
place  in  the  careless  curls  of  her  low  coiffure  ;  it  had  fallen 
in  among  the  sombre  ruchings  of  her  black  gown.  She 
wore  no  color  but  a  bunch  of  scarlet  geraniums  she  had 
carelessly  fastened  in  her  diamond-buckled  belt.  The  twist 
of  loosened  hair  was  like  a  shaft  of  sunlight  let  loose  across 
one  shoulder. 

Suddenly  she  looked  up,  and  saw  him.  If  the  lines  of 
his  slight,  erect  figure  were  tense, — more  so  than  usual, — 
she  apparently  had  not  perceived  it. 

' '  You  !' '  she  cried.  She  went  on  with  her  little  springs 
and  dartings  here  and  there,  like  a  bright  bird. 

' '  What  luck  !' '  ejaculated  he,  coming  forward,  just  as 
though  he  had  not  been  standing  for  five  minutes  in  rapt 
contemplation. 

' '  The  flowers,  you  mean  ?' '  she  retorted,  glancing  about 
her  in  a  peculiarly  radiant  way  she  had.  "Are  they  not 
more  desirable  than  anything  else  ?' ' 

She  had  not  said  so,  but  he  knew,  with  the  aid  of  a  quick 
sympathy  which  was  born  that  moment  between  them,  that 
she  meant,  "  How  much  more  desirable  than  all  that  noise 
and  confusion  inside  !  How  far  worthier  of  consideration  ! 
How  peaceful  !" 

"  I  think,"  returned  Jack,  "that  we  have  one  taste,  at 
least,  in  common." 

He  threw  himself  down  on  a  settee,  and  looked  up  into 
her  lovely  face.  It  had  more  than  a  hint  of  strong  char- 
acter in  it.  The  chin  was  determined  ;  the  mouth,  well 
governed  ;  the  eyes  had  arching  brows,  and  level  lids. 

32 


TRANSFIXED    AT    THE    PICTURE    SHE    MADE 


AN  UNCONDITIONAL  COMPACT 

' '  Many, ' '  she  answered,  "is  it  not ?"  in  a  half-foreign 
fashion.  '  'And  now, ' '  she  added,  ' '  that  we  are  to  live  in 
the  same  city  we  must  discover  more  ;  mustn'  t  we  ?" 

Her  cheeks  were  slightly  flushed.  The  lace  had  fallen 
back  from  her  slender,  perfect  arm.  She  lifted  herself  on 
tiptoe,  to  adjust  a  branch  of  trailing  ivy  running  across  a 
window  above  his  head. 

' '  Markoe  is  good  to  willingly  widen  my  hitherto  limited 
sphere, ' '  murmured  Jack. 

"Ah,  do  you  know  how  good  he  is?"  she  acquiesced, 
unexpectedly.  ' '  Can  you  know — are  you  capable  of  real- 
izing half  how  good  he  is?" 

"  Perhaps,"  he  answered,  a  little  astonished  at  the  inten- 
sity of  her  response.  She  was  generally  silent,  unless  among 
her  most  intimate  friends.  She  was  a  woman  who  required 
sympathy  to  bring  out  her  intrinsic  sincerity.  Perhaps 
the  enforced  intimacy  which  was  to  come  had  already,  in 
a  measure,  broken  down  the  barrier  which  custom  had 
hitherto  invariably  erected  between  these  two  in  public. 

' '  No,  no, ' '  she  added,  hurriedly,  as  though  fearful  he 
was  about  to  interrupt  her  eulogy,  ' '  you  cannot  know, 
until  you  have  tried  him,  what  a  man  he  is, — I  mean  my 
husband.  Staunch,  a  little  autocratic,  perhaps,  but  infi- 
nitely just. 

' '  I  have  always  regarded  him  in  the  light  of  an  extraor- 
dinary success,"  said  Jack,  entering  into  her  mood  with  the 
greatest  tact.  ' '  He  has  proved  himself  my  friend.  If, 
within  the  uneven  tenor  of  my  unworthy  way,  I  can  reward 
him  for  the  trust  he  has  placed  in  me,  I  will  do  so." 

' '  Yes  ?' '  she  answered.    ' '  You  will  '  prove  it, '  you  say  ?' ' 

"  I  will  prove  it,"  returned  Jack,  almost  solemnly. 

' '  I  think  I  should  like  to  shake  hands  with  you, ' '  she  as- 
serted, noiselessly  moving  towards  him,  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life,  of  her  own  sweet  will. 
3  33 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

"Here,"  said  Jack,  briefly. 

He  extended  his  hand,  a  nervous,  handsome  young  hand, 
quivering  with  life,  quickening  visibly  in  its  muscles  and 
the  coursing  of  hot  blood  through  its  owner's  veins. 

He  held  it  out  towards  her. 

She  laid  her  fingers  within  it.     They  were  bare. 

"I  think,"  she  half  whispered,  in  the  same  sweet,  con- 
templative fashion,  as  though  forming  a  delightful  project, 
and,  with  it,  the  desire  to  cling  to  it,  "I  think  we  shall  be 
friends. ' ' 

Jack  answered  nothing. 

He  had  enough  to  do  looking  at  her.  It  seemed,  some- 
how, a  very  solemn  compact,  this ;  a  compact  which 
might  be  far  more  binding  than  most  covenants  of  a  friendly 
description.  He  did  not  speak,  because  he  could  think 
of  nothing  more  eloquent  than  silence. 

"  I  need  friends,"  she  said,  gently.  "  I  have  only  Ste- 
phen, you  know.  He  is  so  often — busy. ' ' 

Jack  nodded. 

"And  in  Paris,"  she  added,  "  I  do  not  know  my  way 
about  as  well  as  Stephen  does.  He  was  educated  there. 
I  shall  need,  I  wonder " 

She  hesitated.     Jack  was  looking  at  her  with  dumb  eyes. 

Markoe  crossed  the  threshold. 

"  Come,  Kate,"  he  cried,  in  his  vibrant  voice,  in  the  tone 
that  had  been  quoted,  by  a  cynical  bench  contemporary,  to 
1 '  knock  the  bottom  clean  out  of  sentiment, "  ' '  those  cobs  of 
yours  are  restive  ;  we  must  get  back  to  New  York. ' ' 

He  glanced  at  Jack. 

The  young  fellow  sat  in  a  despondent  posture,  both 
hands  pressed  between  his  knees.  They  had  fallen  there 
about  two  moments  since.  The  one  which  Mrs.  Markoe 
had  clasped  was  folded  under.  Jack  was  holding  it  with 
an  iron  grip,  after  having  looked  it  over  closely,  curiously. 

34 


AN   UNCONDITIONAL  COMPACT 

' '  Done  up  ?' '  inquired  Markoe. 

Jack  rose,  and  shook  himself. 

' '  Seedy, ' '  he  returned,  shortly. 

He  walked  forward,  then,  and  laid  his  hand  on  Markoe' s 
broad  shoulder. 

"  Stephen,"  said  the  young  fellow, — it  was  the  first  time 
he  had  called  his  chief  Stephen  ;  Markoe  started  slightly. 
"Oh,  let  me  call  you  Stephen,"  pleaded  Conway,  with  a 
slight  quiver  in  his  voice ;  ' '  all  our  family  does, — my  mother, 
grandfather,  and  the  rest. ' '  His  features  were  twitching  a 
little,  as  though  he  were  struggling  to  control  some  pro- 
found emotion  ;  it  was  a  nervous  face,  at  the  best,  and  was 
often  guilty  of  little,  apparently  uncommandable,  disclosures 
of  undue  sensitiveness.  ' '  You  have  offered  me  the  biggest 
thing  you  know  of.  I  mean  to  obey  your  orders  as  grandly 
as  the  strength  may  be  given  me.  It  is  the  opportunity  of 
my  life." 

Markoe  shifted  his  shoulder,  after  he  had  contemplated 
him  curiously. 

' '  Don' t  be  heroic  until  the  time  is  ripe  for  action.  Wast- 
ing powder,"  he  advised. 

"Perhaps,"  returned  Jack. 

He  stood  quite  still  as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Markoe  walked 
away  from  him  towards  the  porte  cochere,  under  which  a 
pair  of  handsome  cobs  were  fretting  restlessly. 

Across  his  mind  there  flitted  a  vague  shadow  of  the  sub- 
stance to  come,  of  the  difficulties  to  be  encountered,  of  his 
inexperience.  He  did  not  tremble  at  the  task  ahead  of 
him — a  task  embracing,  as  he  and  Markoe  already  realized, 
some  grave  features.  Rather  he  quivered  to  be  in  the  thick 
of  even  an  unknown  fray,  meeting  subterfuge  with  grit, 
intrigue  with  caution.  In  his  audacious  courage,  in  his 
eager  reach  out  into  the  unknown,  in  his  indomitable  desire 
to  conquer,  he  left  out  of  consideration  an  adversary  which 

35 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

has  paralyzed  effort  as  effectually  as  death  shuts  down  upon 
achievement.  It  stood  at  his  elbow  now,  ready  to  stab  him 
in  all  his  pride  of  youth  and  energy. 

'  'Au  revoir,  '  '  shouted  Markoe  as  they  drove  off,  touch- 
ing the  brim  of  his  hat  with  his  whip. 

Then  Jack  ran  forward. 

It  was  too  late  to  do  anything  but  wave  his  hand.  As 
he  waved  it  a  flush  of  color  rose  to  his  face.  He  remem- 
bered the  fingers  with  which  it  had  come  in  contact  but 
recently. 

As  it  fell  he  looked  at  it  steadily.     He  turned  it  over. 

There  was  a  queer  light  in  his  eyes  as  he  shoved  it  into 
an  opening  between  the  buttons  of  his  coat,  and  held  it 
there. 

He  would  not  see  his  chief  again,  it  had  been  deter- 
mined, until  they  all  met  in  Paris. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   FRENCH    POINT   OF  VIEW 

ONE  morning,  in  the  beginning  of  June,  a  messenger  in 
private  livery  made  his  way  hastily  towards  a  long  building 
on  the  left-hand  side  of  the  Seine,  not  far  from  Notre  Dame. 
Arrived  there,  he  parleyed  a  moment  with  an  official  who 
kept  guard  under  the  stone  arch  of  a  frowning  doorway. 
After  some  severe  questioning  he  succeeded  at  last  in  ob- 
taining permission  to  mount  the  narrow  stairway  at  the  back 
of  the  big  court  to  the  right. 

He  scaled  the  first  flight  lightly  ;  indeed,  so  impetuous 
was  he,  charged  apparently  with  a  message  of  importance, 
that  he  sometimes  leaped  two  or  three  steps  at  a  time, 

36 


THE   FRENCH   POINT  OF  VIEW 

thinking  to  arrive  the  sooner.  But  as  he  proceeded  on  his 
way,  encountering  broad  and  narrow  corridors,  and  offi- 
cials who  peremptorily  demanded  his  credentials,  which, 
with  a  perceptibly  obstinate  determination,  he  refused  to 
divulge, — whereupon,  being  laid  open  to  suspicion,  he  at 
last  whispered  a  name  in  their  ears  which  made  them  fall 
back  instantly  with  an  enlightened  expression, — his  steps 
grew  slower.  With  deliberation  and  slackening  elasticity 
he  stolidly  pursued  his  way. 

He  climbed  and  climbed.  He  made  straight  to  the 
right  only  to  turn  on  himself,  to  climb  twisted  passageways 
to  the  left.  He  crossed  another  court,  at  last,  and  came 
into  a  wide,  low-studded  hall  in  which  two  or  three  officials, 
in  the  garb  of  the  French  government,  stood  at  their  posts. 
Among  them  was  an  old  man  wearing  the  forbidding  air  of 
a  public  servant  in  special  employ.  The  messenger  ad- 
dressed him. 

"  It  is  a  message  from  you  know  whom,"  he  whispered, 
' '  and  I  am  to  deliver  it  in  person,  and  au  plus  vite. ' ' 

' '  My  orders  are  that  Monsieur  Monod  is  not  to  be  dis- 
turbed,"  replied  the  old  man,  imperturbably,  with  the  super- 
cilious indifference  of  the  transiently  authorized.  His  name 
was  Ben6it 

The  messenger  made  an  impatient  gesture.  He  stooped 
forward  to  whisper  in  the  old  man's  ear  the  same  name 
which  had  procured  for  him  attention  in  past  similar  diffi- 
culties. 

It  produced  a  like  effect  here. 

Be'noit  started,  placed  his  right  hand,  after  having  curved 
it  cup-shape,  to  his  ear,  as  though  unwilling  in  so  important 
a  confidence  to  trust  entirely  to  his  own  failing  hearing,  and 
then  hurriedly  bade  the  messenger  be  seated,  while  he  re- 
tired to  announce  him  and  his  errand. 

The  messenger,  fretting  at  even  so  slight  a  delay,  agreed 

37 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

to  possess  his  unruly  soul  in  patience  while  an  effort  was 
made  to  pierce  the  absorption  of  the  listener  he  sought. 

B6n6it  disappeared. 

The  vast  hall  seemed  sole  owner  of  that  silence  which, 
some  thinker  tells  us,  is  possessed  of  a  roar  on  its  further 
side.  Officials  hurried  to  and  fro,  in  and  out,  at  intervals, 
with  the  gravity  on  their  countenances  which  indicates  the 
conscious  burden  of  municipal  affairs. 

At  last,  after  three  quarters  of  an  hour's  dull  submission, 
by  the  messenger,  to  the  law  of  the  superior  being  whose 
time  is  valuable,  Ben6it  came  leisurely  through  the  opening 
made  by  the  swinging  of  a  green  baize  door. 

His  lined  old  countenance  was  puckered  into  an  expres- 
sion of  puzzled  wonder. 

' '  He  is  very  closely  occupied, ' '  he  announced,  deliver- 
ing a  well-learnt  lesson  with  unction,  ' '  but  considering  that 

your  message  comes  from ,"  he  stopped,  and  nodded 

his  head  solemnly,  ' '  he  says  for  me  to  bid  you  enter. ' ' 

The  messenger  rose  and  hurried  forward. 

"Gently,  gently,"  murmured  Ben6it,  shambling  after 
him.  He  first  threw  open  the  baize  door,  led  him  through 
a  small  entry,  and  finally  brought  him  into  the  presence  of 
a  very  solemn-looking  official  in  dark  clothes  ornamented 
with  the  liberte",  egalite",  and  fraternite1  buttons  of  France. 
About  this  individual's  neck  was  suspended  a  heavy  brass 
chain.  Hanging  from  it,  and  falling  to  the  middle  of  his 
broad  chest,  was  a  seal.  Its  bearer  seemed  fully  impressed 
with  the  gravity  of  his  office. 

He  looked  the  messenger  over,  as  though,  considering 
him  a  villain  of  the  deepest  dye,  he  thus  would  check  any 
attempt  with  concealed  weapons.  Then,  throwing  open  a 
narrow,  mulberry  leather  portal  studded  heavily  at  the  bor- 
der with  wrought  brass  nails,  he  vouchsafed  ungraciously, 
"Entrez." 

38 


THE  FRENCH   POINT  OF  VIEW 

Disclosed  was  a  room  with  one  window,  and,  in  the 
centre,  a  table  on  which  were  papers  and  writing  imple- 
ments, an  inkstand,  a  blotting-pad,  and,  at  the  corner,  a 
large  revolving  globe  of  the  world.  There  were  three 
leather  chairs.  There  was  one  occupant. 

The  messenger  entered. 

The  door  fell  to  softly  behind  him. 

Seated  at  the  table,  writing  rapidly,  was  a  man  about 
forty  years  of  age,  in  civilian's  clothes.  After  a  few  mo- 
ments he  glanced  up,  and  cast  a  pre-occupied  look  towards 
the  messenger,  as  though  so  absorbed  in  the  matter  under 
discussion  that  he  was  barely  capable  of  enduring  an  in- 
terruption. Then  he  said,  suddenly,  going  on  with  his 
writing, — 

' '  You  came  from ?' ' 

"From  Lamballe." 

The  writer  immediately  flung  down  his  pen.  He  bent 
his  gaze  upon  the  messenger.  The  messenger  bore  the 
look  unflinchingly. 

"  I  am  to  understand  you  are  Lamballe' s ,"  the  words 

arrested  themselves  in  mid-air  ;  the  speaker  apparently  in- 
tended that  his  sentence  should  be  filled  up.  The  messen- 
ger was  nothing  loath. 

' '  My  master  bade  me  hand  you  this  package, ' '  he 
said. 

He  unbuttoned  his  coat,  withdrew  a  sealed  envelope 
from  a  leather  wallet  he  had  carried  inside,  and  delivered 
it  in  person,  as  he  had  been  ordered  to  do. 

The  individual  of  importance,  at  the  table,  broke  the  seal 
and  unfolded  the  letter.  He  withdrew  the  contents  from 
the  envelope  carefully,  after  casting  another  attentive  look 
at  its  bearer.  He  began  reading  the  missive  with  marked 
signs  of  interest.  His  face  flushed,  slightly  haggard  coun- 
tenance that  it  was,  with  hard  lines  in  it,  and  a  razor-like 

39 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

profile.  With  a  quick,  almost  imperceptible  motion  he 
drew  the  globe  of  the  world  towards  him,  and  with  his 
forefinger  rapidly  traced  out  a  portion  of  the  corner  which 
a  geographer  would  have  recognized  as  the  quadrangular 
map  of  France.  Then,  pushing  globe  and  letter  from  him, 
he  let  his  head  fall  on  his  hand,  and  his  thoughts  into 
what  has  been  denominated  a  brown  study. 

Some  coals  fell  in  the  grate  ;  outside,  a  few  rain-drops 
spattered  against  the  window.  A  scurrying  cloud  quenched 
the  sunshine  for  a  space. 

It  broke  forth  again  as  the  room' s  inmate  leaned  forward. 
Drawing  pen  and  paper  towards  him,  he  began  to  sketch 
an  uneven  outline  with  the  aid  of  what  seemed  an  unbridled 
imagination. 

Finally  he  threw  down  his  pen  in  disgust. 

Happening  to  glance  up,  he  encountered  the  stolid  gaze 
of  Lamballe's  messenger. 

' '  You  know  the  import  of  this  message  ?' '  peremptorily. 

The  messenger  hesitated. 

"  J'e'coute,"  vouchsafed  his  superior,  encouragingly. 

4 '  I  know, ' '  began  the  messenger,  4 '  that  it  is  a  subject 
which  has  caused  monsieur  mon  maitre  some  anxiety.  It 
is  the  same  affaire,  he  told  me  to  inform  monsieur,  that 
cropped  up  some  four  years  since, — il  me  semble, — the 
'affaire  internationale. '  Monsieur  mon  maitre  had  con- 
sidered it  defeated ' ' 

"And " 

44  Monsieur  mon  maitre  is  disturbed, — he  told  me  to  em- 
ploy that  word, — '  disturbed'  that  the  question  should 
have  been  opened  again.  But  monsieur  had  received 
orders  to  consider  it.  Monsieur  had  but  to  obey." 

4  4  You  left  him  at  the  palace, ' '  pointing  in  the  direction 
of  the  Palais  de  Justice. 

4 '  Pardon.  Monsieur  mon  maitre  had  but  just  time  to 

40 


THE  FRENCH   POINT  OF  VIEW 

thrust  the  document  into  my  hand  before  he  retired  last 
night" 

' '  Ecoutez  !     Is  he  still  chez  lui  ?' ' 

"Jelecrois." 

' '  Return  to  the  house  and  tell  him  his  presence  here  is 
desired  most  urgently,  and  at  once." 

The  messenger  folded  his  coat-flap  across  his  chest  care- 
fully, fastened  the  buttonhole  which  had  remained  open, 
and,  with  a  profound  inclination,  withdrew. 

An  hour  later  a  man  well  ripened,  in  the  prime  of  life, 
of  a  singularly  commanding  presence,  with  a  pale,  high- 
bred face,  a  pair  of  piercing  black  eyes,  and  a  gray  im- 
perial, drove  into  the  court  in  a  high  English  cart. 
Throwing  the  reins  to  his  groom  he  was  ushered  up  a 
private  staircase  into  the  apartment  of  the  individual  who 
had  summoned  him. 

The  visitor  was  Ferdinand  Lamballe. 

He  was  attired  in  a  gray  spring  suit  of  flawless  cut  and 
make.  His  head  was  surmounted  with  a  soft,  gray,  felt  hat. 
He  wore  an  enormous  white  carnation  in  his  buttonhole. 

Monod  was  well  versed  in  his  business.  He  rose,  as 
his  visitor  entered,  and  bowed  profoundly. 

' '  It  is  with  deep  regret,  monsieur ' '  he  began. 

But  Lamballe  interrupted  him  by  meeting  his  eyes  with 
a  peculiarly  sweet  smile  and  waving  him  to  his  seat.  His 
was  the  gracious  patronage  of  an  acknowledged  superior. 
It  none  the  less  conveyed  the  studied  thoughtfulness  of 
one  born  to  command  but  never  to  oppress. 

' '  The  dispute  is  theirs,  not  ours, ' '  he  said,  concisely, 
relegating  what  might  have  seemed  an  act  of  undue  per- 
tinacity— a  possible  international  complication — to  its  proper 
niche. 

He  seemed  to  be  placing  himself  under  an  obligation  to 
the  man  who  had  sent  for  him.  His  was  that  winning 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

magnetism  which  acquires  friends  right  and  left  through 
the  sheer  supremacy  of  forbearance.  "  Now  this  has 
come  to  the  front  again,  we  must  defeat  it,"  he  added, 
seating  himself. 

The  question  had  evidently  been  well  digested  by  Lam- 
balle  before  being  passed  on  for  consideration  to  a  subordi- 
nate. He  forgot  that  Monod  occupied  his  present  position 
rather  by  proof  than  by  the  chance  of  superiority. 

"If  I  may  venture  to  propound  the  question,"  Monod 
began, — "and,  yes,  I  may  venture," — in  response  to  Lam- 
balle's  glance  of  concentrated  attention,  "  I  would  ask  the 
wherefore  of  monsieur' s  opposition  ?  His  generosity  is 
proverbial.  He,  without  doubt,  has  full  command  of  the 
matter  to  have  so  entirely  decided  upon  the  formula  of 
contention  in  regard  to  it  which  we,  he  assumes,  are 
about  to  pursue  ?' ' 

' '  Stop, ' '  interrupted  Lamballe,  in  a  clear  voice.  There 
was  a  harsh  ring  on  the  edge  of  it,  as  though  its  owner 
protested  even  more  in  his  spirit  than  by  aid  of  his  words. 
' '  The  cause  of  my  opposition  is  purely  personal. ' ' 

His  listener  permitted  himself  to  look  not  only  incredu- 
lous, but  regretful. 

"  I  acquired  an  implacable  distaste  for  the  American  in 
my  youth,"  continued  Lamballe,  still  with  that  harshness 
in  his  tone  of  which  at  other  times  it  was  devoid.  "  It  still 
abides  with  me.  Until  now  I  have  considered  it  needless 
to  reveal  a  secret  prejudice.  Rather,  however,  than  you 
should  labor  under  a  misapprehension,  I  herewith  dis- 
close it. ' ' 

The  confession  had  evidently  cost  him  something.  His 
breath  came  in  a  labored  fashion  for  a  second  or  two.  Then 
it  grew  regular  once  more. 

"A  petty  definition,  n'est-ce-pas,  monsieur?"  he  de- 
manded, a  trifle  ironically,  as  though  himself  aware  of  the 

42 


THE  FRENCH    POINT  OF  VIEW 

narrowness  his  confession  divulged.  ' '  But  so  it  is.  Perhaps 
I  am  not  the  first  individual  to  allow  a  personal  prejudice  to 
strangle  a  wider  or,  say  rather,  a  wiser  concession. ' ' 

He  looked  repentant,  but  absolutely  decided. 

' '  Understand, ' '  he  continued,  after  a  few  moments  si- 
lence, in  which  his  listener  had  vouchsafed  nothing, — a 
pencil  rolled  across  the  smooth  green  leather  of  a  desk  in 
the  corner,  and  fell  with  a  clatter  to  the  floor, — "  I  consider 
I  am  doing  my  country  no  harm.  Rather  am  I  protecting 
her  very  positively  from  an  uncalled-for  nuisance. ' ' 

There  was  no  answer. 

4 '  I  am  to  believe  you  are  of  a  like  opinion  ?' '  he  asked, 
then,  courteously. 

Monod  stirred  ever  so  slightly.  His  lips  remained  firmly 
compressed. 

Lamballe  looked  at  him  piercingly.  A  light  broke  across 
his  face. 

' '  Speak, ' '  he  cried.  ' '  Figurez-vous,  I  have  often  longed 
for  a  side-light  on  this  issue  from  one  of  my  own  people. ' ' 
The  manner  was  ardent,  convincing. 

A  voice  from  the  somewhat  insignificant  figure  in  the 
arm-chair  spoke. 

"  It  is  with  your  permission  ?' '  it  began,  cautiously.  Its 
owner's  eyes,  from  under  a  pair  of  heavy,  overhanging 
brows,  peered  forth  as  though  dreading  a  coming  storm 
with  perhaps  undue  apprehension.  His  hand,  thick,  large, 
with  stumpy  fingers,  the  honest  hand  of  an  uncompromis- 
ingly self-confessed  member  of  the  bonne  bourgeoisie, 
fumbled  with  a  crumpled  piece  of  paper  on  which  it  had 
drawn,  an  hour  or  so  since,  the  semblance  of  a  quadrangle. 

"But  speak." 

' '  Then  I  would  say  the  decision,  monsieur,  appears  to 
us,  from  you,  an  unjust  one." 

"Why  so?" 

43 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

"You  have  never  hesitated  to  accuse  us,  as  a  nation,  of 
mingling  personal  vanity  with  party  prejudice  ;  to  state 
that  we  combine,  singularly  enough,  the  sturdy  opposition 
of  the  ignorant  with  the  enlightened  views  of  the  advanced. 
How  is  it  that  you,  who  clamor, — the  word  is  perhaps  too 
strong, — you  who  clamor  for  justice,  who  deplore  our  con- 
servatism as  compared  with  the  progress  of  a  quicker  civil- 
ization, who  never  lose  the  chance  to  rail  against  our  misuse 
or,  rather,  abuse  of  opportunity,  in  your  books,  in  your 
dramas,  with  your  acts,  are  guilty — I  use  the  word  advis- 
edly— of  so  narrow  a  conclusion  ?' ' 

' '  I  own  Carembourg. ' ' 

All  the  pride  of  race  shone  from  the  piercing  black  eyes, 
the  pride  which  makes  of  the  lord  of  the  manor  a  master. 
All  the  noble  use  of  power  for  which  this  man  was  justly 
famous,  all  the  recognition  of  the  fact  that  possession  is 
nine  points  of  most  laws — not  all — stood  declared  in  the 
firm  retort. 

1 '  Monsieur,  then,  constitutes  himself  a ' ' 

"  I  claim  the  privilege  to  sell  my  own  land  to  whomso- 
ever it  pleases  me, ' '  impetuously,  ' '  to  ignore  a  proffer  which 
stinks  of  an  invasion,  of  positive  vandalism.  The  law  of 
gain  is  the  curse  of  the  coming  race.  The  New  World 
thinks,  if  it  offers  a  larger  sum  than  most,  it  may  buy  up 
our  prejudices.  It  finds  itself,  for  once,  rejected.  Natu- 
rally, charged  as  it  is  with  intoxication,  the  ecstasy  of  the 
new-born  drunk  with  life,  it  is  nettled. ' ' 

Lamballe  spoke  sharply.  His  meaning  was  clear.  His 
eyes  carried  in  their  flashing  depths  the  memory  of  a  wrong. 
His  listener,  habituated  to  eluding  side-issues,  called  him 
to  order  with  his  subsequent  speech. 

"  The  New  World, "  he  argued,  "is  inevitable,  albeit  at 
times  too  grasping,  perhaps.  The  actual  is  the  absolute. 
Monsieur  is  too  wise  to  refute  that.  I  say  it  were  unworthy 

44 


THE  FRENCH   POINT  OF  VIEW 

of  a  man  like  Lamballe  to  throw  himself  as  a  wedge  between 
two  nations  which  might,  with  mutual  benefit,  unite. ' ' 

'  'And  I  contend  this  project  is  more  or  less  of  an  oppres- 
sion. The  ingredient  my  chalk  contains  could  be  worked 
out  and  exported,  as  other  properties  have  been  worked 
and  exported.  Why  acquiesce  in  the  superfluous  establish- 
ment, even  if  only  temporary,  of  an  army  of  foreigners  who 
are  odious  to  me, — a  practical  invasion, — whereas  the  other 
manner  is  feasible  ?' ' 

' '  The  '  other  manner'  ?     What  is  the  '  other  manner'  ?' ' 

' '  The  rental  of  the  land  during  the  process  of  removing 
the  chalk  ;  its  ultimate  importation,  in  its  crude  state,  to  be 
worked  in  the  United  States.  The  proposition  was  ad- 
vanced and  contemptuously  refused." 

' '  But  that  is  not  feasible  ;  more,  totally  impracticable. 
Besides,  if  it  were  advisable,  given  that  monsieur  would  cede 
the  land  long  enough  to  have  it  deliver  itself  of  its  proper- 
ties, the  exportation  of  the  raw  material  unworked  would 
involve  enormous  expense.  Labor  is  cheaper  here  than  in 
the  United  States. ' ' 

"  Oh,  that!"  pronounced  Lamballe,  with  a  laugh.  "  You 
little  comprehend  the  financial  radius  of  the  new  world  if 
you  think  it  stops  at  the  expenditure  of  a  few  millions  more 
or  less.  The  magnitude  of  their  spirit  of  enterprise  is  al- 
most incalculable.  It  savors  of  comic  opera. ' ' 

He  spoke  contemptuously. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  argued  the  voice  from  the  depths  of 
the  arm-chair,  with  an  obviously  determined  accent,  ' '  that 
their  offer  is  a  peculiarly  generous  one, — as  it  now  stands. 
We  cannot  help  but  profit  largely  off  the  invasion  alone, 
according  to  present  propositions.  The  price  to  be  paid 
down  is  a  colossal  one,  taking  into  consideration  the  sur- 
plus expenditure  which  will  be  involved  during  the  pit's 
excavation. ' ' 

45 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

"  Generous  !' '  broke  forth  Lamballe,  with  a  sneer.  ' '  You 
do  not  know  the  American.  He  permits  no  sentiment  to 
interfere  where  self-interest  is  concerned.  In  this  he  is, 
acknowledgedly,  our  superior. ' ' 

His  listener  remained  stolidly  unconvinced. 

' '  You  say  '  sentiment, '  "  he  reiterated  later,  mildly. 
"  Have  you  not  confounded  sentiment  with  sentimentality, 
monsieur?" 

' '  Suit  yourself.  The  entire  proposition  is  insufferable  to 
me." 

' '  And  why,  if  monsieur  will  still  permit  that  I  continue 
my  argument  in  the  case," — Lamballe  had  risen  ;  he  was 
striding  uneasily  about  the  room  like  a  white  bear  in  his 
cage, — "  why  should  generosity  be  denied  the  new  world 
by  you,  the  most  magnanimous  of  men  ?' ' 

"  Because  I  know  them,  know  them  root  and  branch,  up 
and  down,  round  and  about,"  cried  Lamballe.  "Assez, 
monsieur.  The  proposition  to  me  is  odiously  distasteful. 
Tell  our  chief,  from  me,  mind  you,  that  the  affair  was  set- 
tled, done  with,  dead,  four  years  ago  ;  that  I  totally  re- 
fuse to  reopen  it ;  that  what  I  said  then  I  say  now.  I  am 
as  adamant." 

He  looked  it,  standing  there  at  his  full  height :  a  princely 
figure,  in  stature  unusually  tall  for  a  Frenchman,  with  that 
unmistakable  air  of  race  which  exemplifies  the  memorable 
imprint  of  a  kingly  ancestry  as  to  character  as  well  as 
blood. 

"  One  moment,"  the  tone  was  dry,  as  though  purposely 
drained  of  feeling.  "  You  wish,  then,  that  Germany  should 
obtain  the  option  of  refusing  or  accepting  this  offer  ?' ' 

Lamballe  had  lifted  his  hat  from  the  table.  He  stood 
near  the  door  adjusting  his  gloves. 

"  I  cannot  see ,"  he  ejaculated. 

1 '  The  frontier.  It  is  but  one  step  across  the  border. 

46 


THE   FRENCH   POINT  OF  VIEW 

Prussian  soil,  to  a  foreigner,  is  as  good  as  French.  It  is 
possible,  albeit  it  appears  monsieur  refused  to  allow  his  sur- 
veyor even  to  confirm  this  statement,  that  the  chalk  may 
extend  across  the  frontier.  If  this  is  true,  and  if  the  Ameri- 
can discovers  this,  our  cause  is  lost." 

There  was  a  pause. 

' '  The  invader, ' '  relentlessly  pursued  the  voice  from  the 
arm-chair, — its  occupant  had  not  risen, — "  malgr6  lui,  is 
but  human.  He  wants,  too,  his  own  way.  I  have  been  in- 
formed he  will  get  it.  He  has  not  threatened, ' '  in  answer 
to  Lamballe'  s  flashing  look  of  annihilation.  ' '  Rather  he 
has  reopened  the  attack  with  courtesy  and  surety.  My 
impression  is  that  this  time  he  has  his  weapons  ready  ;  that 
the  man  who  backs  the  present  motion  is  of  totally  different 
calibre  from  the  man  who  backed  a  similar  enterprise  four 
years  ago.  He " 

' '  Well  ?' '  urged  Lamballe,  still  contemptuously. 

' '  I  think  he  intends  to  win. ' ' 

Lamballe,  with  a  proud  smile,  turned  towards  the  door 
again.  He  evidently  had  not  swerved  an  inch  from  his 
prejudice. 

"The  man's  name?"  indifferently. 

"Markoe." 

Lamballe  buttoned  his  gloves.  He  made  no  answer. 
One  Anglo-Saxon  word,  it  was  obvious,  was  the  same  as 
another  to  him.  They  were,  one  and  all,  abhorrent. 

Monod  rose.  ' '  France  will  be  grieved  to  consider  you 
thus  contemplate  thwarting  her  interests,  monsieur,"  he 
said,  quietly. 

"France!" 

"She  must  so  consider  it.  I  was  ordered,  not  a  week 
since,  to  inform  you  of  this  truth,  if  you  concluded  to 
pursue  your  evident,  your  most  regrettable,  intention. 

' '  France  !' '  cried  Lamballe.  "Is  it  to  France  I  am  to 

47 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

sell  my  land  ?  No.  It  is  to  this  vandal.  It  would  be  the 
irony  of  fate  should  I  treat,  if  only  for  a  short  period,  with 
the  race  which  is  the  most  displeasing  to  me.  Que  voulez- 
vous,  Monod  ?' '  He  spread  his  hands  wide,  with  an  expres- 
sion of  despair.  He  was  at  an  utter  loss,  it  seemed,  to 
disentangle  his  interests  from  so  lamentable  an  exigency. 

' '  Cannot  you  sacrifice  a  mere  personal  prejudice  ?' ' 

"No,"  responded  Lamballe,  "a  thousand  times  no." 

He  looked  arrogant,  but  the  pained  anger  in  his  eyes, 
like  the  fury  in  the  eyes  of  a  wounded  animal,  was  not  so  ; 
rather  it  betrayed  the  consciousness  of  an  unhealed  wound, 
a  contingency  publicly  disallowed  within  Lamballe's  charmed 
sphere.  His  had  been,  so  the  world  considered,  a  triumphal 
progress  ;  and  the  world's  judgment  is  the  only  judgment 
which  counts,  after  all.  What  does  it  matter  if  a  man's  heart 
break  in  the  progress,  so  long  as  he  appears  to  have  won  ? 
Was  he,  Lamballe,  to  be  attacked  at  last  in  his  profoundest, 
his  most  loving  conviction, — his  passion  for  his  country  ? 

' '  Consider,  monsieur ' ' 

' '  I  have  considered.  My  answer  is,  I  am  not  to  be 
bought." 

1 '  Ah  !  But  did  your  adversary  know  you  as  you  are, 
you  are  to  be  won. ' '  The  Gallic  love  of  sentiment  was  ad- 
vancing with  alacrity. 

"To  be  won ?' '  repeated  Lamballe,  with  a  queer,  unsee- 
ing smile,  almost  the  brave,  blind  look  of  the  condemned. 
"  C'est  selon  !  Give  them  my  answer,  Monod,  between  the 
teeth, — straight  in  the  teeth,  remember.  Lamballe  is  not  to 
be  bought." 

1 '  And  if  they  choose  to  read  between  the  lines  ?' '  cried 
the  tormentor's  voice  behind  him,  as  he  strode  towards  the 
door  and  out  into  the  passageway. 

"Tell  them,  even  then  I  fight  to  the  death,"  called  back 
Lamballe,  loudly,  from  far  down  the  corridor. 

48 


A  DEFEATED   HANDICAP 

That  night  a  message,  with  a  government  seal,  was 
handed  in  at  63  Avenue  Marceau,  the  residence  of  the 
United  States  Ambassador. 

"It's  war  to  the  knife,"  it  read  —  it  was  a  single  line,  but 
the  two  men  who  perused  it  knew  it  to  be  the  signal  for  im- 
mediate action  —  "it's  war  to  the  knife  unless  France  can 
be  forced  to  intervene." 

"Jack,"  said  Markoe,  "you  are  due  at  Carembourg. 
I'll  remain  here,  and  meet  Lamballe." 


CHAPTER    VI 

•A    DEFEATED    HANDICAP 

"  CAREMBOURG,"  began  Markoe,  in  a  low  voice,  "lies  in 
a  valley.  There  is  a  swift  little  river  runs  through  here  to 
the  left,  as  I  understand.  In  this  corner,"  pointing  to  a 
•map  of  France  with  a  billiard-cue  he  had  obtained  in  an 
adjoining  room,  having  gone  there  to  detach  it  from  its 
bracket  for  the  purpose,  '  '  are  the  chalk  strata  we  are 
so  anxious  to  acquire.  The  deposit  is  stated  to  be  the 
largest  in  the  world.  What  you  will  have  to  do,"  turning 
towards  the  eager,  listening  face  which  was  bending  over 
his  shoulder,  "will  be  to  take  our  surveyor  with  you. 
Burgess  is  the  man  selected.  When  you  have  mastered 
the  situation  return  here  to  me  and  report.  Lamballe  in- 
herited Carembourg  from  his  maternal  uncle,  who  profited 
very  largely,  in  a  back-hand  fashion,  by  the  indemnity  de- 
manded by  Bismarck  at  the  time  of  the  Franco-Prussian 
war.  The  dividing  line,  in  his  case,  was  drawn,  luckily 
enough,  just  the  other  side  of  his  possessions,  which,  unlike 
his  neighbor's,  escaped  confiscation." 

"And  the  bed  of  the  river?" 
4  49 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

' '  Is  chalky,  too,  perhaps.  Across  the  frontier  is  Alsace- 
Lorraine.  Curious  how  two  distinct  principalities  may  be 
separated  by  a  purely  imaginary  line.  However,  as  re- 
gards the  propinquity  of  Germany's  possessions  my  infor- 
mation is  deficient.  That  is  your  business.  The  Carem- 
bourg  valley  is  a  rarely  beautiful  one, ' '  terminated  Markoe, 
' '  and  I  heartily  envy  you  your  trip. ' ' 

4 '  I  feel  like  an  explorer, ' '  ejaculated  Conway.  ' '  I  am 
what  the  English  call  '  keen'  for  it,  notwithstanding  my 
departure  takes  place  before  either  the  Grand  Prix  or  the 
Duchesse's  ball." 

But  these  gayeties  were  evidently  devoid  of  the  attractive- 
ness they  might  have  offered  some  weeks  before  to  the 
vigorous  young  fellow  who  looked  to-day  well  worthy  of 
the  confidence  placed  in  him.  His  eyes  had  steadied. 
The  sensitive  lips  were  tightened  in  a  firm,  strong  curve. 
The  color,  a  trifle  paler,  was  bronzed  and  even.  The 
spirited  head  was  chiefly  remarkable  for  a  width  between 
the  brows,  which  hinted  of  unusual  concentrative  force. 

' '  Beware  of  Lamballe  !' '  broke  out  Markoe,  with  a 
subtle  smile.  "  It  is  said  that  he  never  sleeps, — his  friends 
even  suspect  him  of  an  eye  in  the  back  of  his  head " 

"  Superfluous,"  incredulously,  and  with  a  fine  contempt. 

' '  That  his  servants  are  many  and  powerful ;  that  he 
oversees  his  vast  possessions  untiringly, — in  person  as  often 
as  possible.  You  will  find  an  exceptionably  good  inn  at 
Carembourg.  Keep  your  tongue  between  your  teeth  and 
work  silently,  you  and  Burgess.  If  you  must  speak, 
remember  there  are  more  flies  to  be  caught  with  molasses 
than  with  vinegar." 

The  Ambassador  was  smiling  broadly  by  this.  It  amused 
him  to  preach  a  policy  which  he  rarely  practised. 

' '  I  will  visit  Carembourg  as  an  artist, ' '  serenely  remarked 
his  trusted  aid,  "and  take  Burgess  along  as  my  factotum." 


A  DEFEATED   HANDICAP 

' '  Poor  artists  are  not  generally  provided  with  factotums. ' ' 

' '  This  one  shall  be  in  the  form  of  an  even  more  indigent 
relation,"  humorously.  "We  will  set  forth  daily  with 
our  paraphernalia.  It  will  ostensibly  consist  of  palette, 
brushes,  colors,  and  an  easel.  It  will  be,  in  reality,  a  kit 
of  the  necessary  tools.  At  night  we  will  return  to  the  inn 
fagged  out." 

"  Lamballe's  minions  are  many  and  powerful,"  cautioned 
Markoe,  with  emphasis. 

' '  There  is  a  servant  known  as  determination,  and 
another  called  silence.  'They  are  more  than  discreet," 
retorted  Conway. 

The  door  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room  opened.  A 
radiant  figure  stood  disclosed. 

It  was  Mrs.  Markoe.  She  had  but  just  returned  from 
the  Ope"ra  Comique,  whither  she  had  gone  with  a  party 
chaperoned  by  Mrs.  Conway.  She  wore  a  gown  of  some 
soft,  diaphanous,  white  material  which  disclosed  her  superb 
neck  and  arms.  She  came  forward  with  her  forefinger 
against  her  lips,  an  astonished  look  in  her  almond-shaped 
eyes. 

Her  opera-cloak,  which  was  lined  with  black  satin,  made 
her  dazzling  skin  seem  as  white  as  snow. 

' '  Jack  !  You  here  ?' '  she  exclaimed  ;  adding,  ' '  and  I 
left  your  mother  not  twenty  minutes  since  with  the  assur- 
ance that  you  returned  from  here  to  the  Avenue  d'lena 
immediately  after  dinner." 

' '  No, ' '  he  answered,  quietly.  He  was  looking  towards 
her  stolidly,  with  a  peculiar  expression. 

"Instead?" 

' '  I  remained  here  for  marching  orders.  I  have  received 
them.  I  take  my  departure  to-morrow.  Perhaps  it  is 
just  as  well,  since  my  train  leaves  before  ten  A.  M. ,  that  I 
bid  you  good-by  now,"  he  said. 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

She  looked  back  at  him  with  great,  unabashed,  and 
startled  eyes. 

' '  Now  ?' '  she  stammered.  There  was  a  little  shocked 
strain  in  the  suddenly  faint  voice. 

Markoe  had  been  closing  his  desk  after  disposing  of 
some  valuable  documents  he  had  consulted.  He  turned 
the  key  with  a  grating  sound.  His  back  was  towards 
them. 

' '  I  will  bid  you  God  speed,"  he  said.  He  strode  towards 
Conway  and,  lifting  his  right  hand,  placed  it  on  his  shoulder. 
Then  he  glanced  towards  his  wife.  ' '  Order  up  some 
edibles,  Kate,"  he  suggested,  heartily.  He  bent  and 
kissed  her  lightly  on  the  forehead.  ' '  Give  the  young  one  a 
bracing  send-off.  I  am  utterly  worn  out,  and  will  turn  in." 

His  cheery  voice  came  back  to  them  as  he  crossed  the 
threshold  and  closed  the  door  after  him.  They  heard  his 
firm  tread  echoing  down  a  far  corridor. 

' '  I  will  !' '  cried  Mrs.  Markoe. 

She  flung  her  cloak  from  her,  and  flew  across  the  room 
to  obey  her  husband's  bidding.  She  placed  her  finger 
against  the  electric  bell. 

Then  she  turned.  Her  eyes,  still  with  that  unconsciously 
startled  look  in  their  wide  depths,  flashed  from  one  corner 
of  the  room  to  another  until  they  found  the  figure  which 
was  bending  over  her  cloak.  It  had  stooped,  lifted  it, 
and  folded  it  carefully,  and,  after  a  pause,  had  laid  it  across 
the  back  of  a  fauteuil. 

"  It  doesn't  matter,"  she  said. 

"  A  pretty  cloak,"  he  answered  her.  The  tone  was  de- 
jected. The  attitude  ?  He  stood  with  his  head  thrown  up 
as  though,  having  registered  a  vow,  he  intended  keeping  it. 

The  footman  came  to  answer  Mrs.  Markoe' s  summons. 

"  I  desire  some  supper  served  at  once,"  she  said. 

' '  Oui,  madame. ' '     He  vanished. 

52 


A  DEFEATED   HANDICAP 

She  crossed  the  room  and  threw  herself  onto  a  low  seat 
near  the  piano.  She  clasped  her  slender  hands  across  her 
knees.  Her  face  a  little  bent  forward,  her  eyes,  still 
haunted  as  though  by  a  distasteful  apprehension,  looked 
out  ahead. 

"An  interesting  place,  Carembourg?"  she  inquired,  as 
Conway  hesitated. 

He  came  across  the  room  and  stood  before  her.  The 
mantel-piece  was  behind  him.  Over  it  hung  a  copy  of 
Correggio's  Madonna. 

' '  I  wonder  if  you  know  what  the  last  three  weeks  have 
been  to  me  ?' '  he  began,  impetuously. 

There  was  a  silence. 

She  glanced  at  the  lovely  face  above  his  head  ;  such  a 
perfect  woman's  face  in  its  absolute  purity  and  utter  self- 
forgetfulness,  she  thought. 

"  Have  been  to  you  ?"  she  repeated,  lightly. 

"  The  happiest  weeks  of  my  life,"  he  said. 

It  was  a  statement  which  he  felt  must  come  as  inevitably 
as  his  departure.  The  words  had  echoed  through  his 
mind  and  heart ;  their  meaning  had  penetrated  his  soul 
for  thrice  seven  days.  They  would  out  now.  They  said 
themselves,  almost. 

' '  You  will  have  many  perfect  hours,  I  hope, ' '  she  re- 
turned, very  gently,  still  with  her  lifted  gaze  upon  the  face 
above  his  head.  The  picture  seemed  to  stand  between 
her  and  something  which  was  threatening  to  envelop  her  ; 
something  which  was  perilous,  sweet,  and  yet  regrettable. 
Was  it  regrettable?  Was  it  not  rather,  she  wondered, — 
the  thought  stabbed  her  like  a  poisoned  dart, — what  would 
she  do  without  this  something  enveloping  her  ?  It  seemed 
to  her,  now,  that  it  had  been  with  her,  in  all  its  intangible, 
delicious  charm,  for  weeks. 

"No,"  he  was  answering,  before  the  unbidden  thought 

53 


A  NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

had  shaped  itself  entirely  with  her, — the  response  to  his  own 
statement.  The  retort  to  her  benevolently  expressed  desire 
for  his  future  happiness  came  slowly,  sadly,  as  though  heavy 
with  the  bitterness  it  carried.  "  Those  weeks  will  never 
come  again, — God  help  me  !" 

He  was  looking  straight  at  her.  The  slender,  tense,  tall, 
young  figure,  the  vivid,  nervous  face  with  its  compelling 
gaze,  the  spirited,  high-bred  head  which  she  had  come  to 
look  for  in  every  gathering  she  and  he  had  attended  of 
late,  and  at  which  she  had  even  been  the  bright,  particular 
star.  The  eyes, — oh  !  how  she  wished  he  would  stop  look- 
ing at  her  so  ! 

She  walked  about  the  room  a  bit,  turning  a  flower  away 
from  the  light  here  and  straightening  a  book  there. 

Then  she  stepped  towards  him  steadily,  and  allowed  her 
own  eyes — such  placid,  limpid  things,  with  their  piquant, 
arched  brows — to  fall  upon  him.  As  they  met  his  there 
came  into  hers  an  expression  of  faint  bewilderment. 

"Tell  it  to  me,"  she  pleaded  ;  "I  can  see  you  are  in 
love.  It  is  but  meet,"  she  added,  slowly,  firmly,  after  an 
intense  pause,  ' '  that  I  should  know  her  name. ' ' 

"You!     Her  name?" 

He  had  turned  his  eyes  away  now.  He  was  looking 
down  as  though  studying  a  figure  in  the  carpet  at  his  feet. 
His  face  was  pale,  visibly  wan.  There  seemed  to  fall  cavi- 
ties into  the  cheeks,  a  greenish  pallor  about  the  compressed 
lips.  She  had  never  seen  him  pale  before. 

"Yes,"  she  insisted  :  then,  with  solemn  emphasis,  "am 
I  not  your  friend — and  Stephen's  wife?" 

Conway  was  silent. 

Some  carriages  rattled  by,  rolling  towards  the  Arc. 

The  door  swung  wide,  after  a  distinct  knock,  to  which 
Mrs.  Markoe  responded,  ' '  Entrez. ' ' 

The  footman  entered  with  a  tray.  He  set  it  down  on  a 

54 


A   DEFEATED   HANDICAP 

stand,  and  spread  the  table  under  a  cluster  of  tinted  lights 
in  one  corner  of  the  room, — a  table  against  which  the  glit- 
tering glass  and  old-fashioned  silver  stood  out  brilliantly 
from  a  background  of  neighboring  feathery  palms. 

"Woodcock,"  announced  she,  brightly,  "and  cham- 
pagne. Ah  !  'twas  Stephen  who  thought  of  this."  Then 
she  added  softly,  "  Stephen  !" 

Conway  had  not  altered  his  position  by  the  mantel  under 
the  brooding  gaze  of  the  Correggio  Madonna.  But  he 
heard  her. 

' '  Come, ' '  she  said  ;  ' '  and  now,  "as  he  seated  himself, 
' '  I  am  going  to  give  you  a  scolding. ' '  He  lifted  his  som- 
bre eyes.  She  continued,  brightly,  after  lifting  a  piece  of 
woodcock  from  the  platter  before  her  to  his  plate,  and 
handing  him  a  napkin,  and  pushing  his  champagne  flute 
towards  him,  "What  business  have  you  to  grow  despondent 
before  victory  ?' ' 

' '  Victory  ?' '  he  repeated. 

' '  To  be  sure.  You  certainly  are  not  going  to  admit  of 
defeat  even  in  your  own  mind.  The  conqueror,  in  all 
things,  is  he  who  determines  to  vanquish." 

He  was  silent. 

"  I  think,"  she  continued,  audaciously,  her  head  on  one 
side, — she  had  been  nibbling  at  a  wing  ;  the  light  fell  across 
her  charming  face  as  though  it  loved  to  linger  there  and 
caress  it, — "you  must  tell  me  all  of  it,  Jack." 

"  I  cannot,"  he  replied,  at  last,  with  difficulty. 

"  Not  tell  me  ?  Are  we  not  then  comrades  ?  Is  our  com- 
pact forgotten?"  winningly,  and,  oh,  so  sweetly,  as  she 
gracefully  raised  the  champagne  to  her  lips  and  bade  him 
drink  "  to  victory  !" 

"Listen,"  he  began,  finally,  after  he  had  set  down  his 
glass,  and  dried  his  lips  with  his  napkin, — there  was  a  look 
in  his  face  she  had  never  seen  before,  an  old,  worn  look  : 

55 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

some  lines  she  did  not  remember  were  at  the  corners  of  his 
eyes.  "  If  I  tell  you  a  secret,  I  have  disclosed  to  no  one 
before,  will  you  help  me  ?' '  His  eyes,  those  burning, 
hunted  eyes  which  seemed  to  see,  aye,  and  feel,  to-night, 
the  heat  and  burden  of  the  day  and  not  to  recoil  from  it, 
met  hers  fully. 

She  looked  away. 

' '  With  all  my  heart, ' '  she  answered,  softly. 

He  raised  his  glass  again,  and  drained  its  contents  to  the 
dregs.  Then  he  set  his  chair  back  a  bit. 

"What  would  you  say,"  he  asked,  "if  I  told  you  that 
I  loved  a  woman  who  could  never  love  me  ?' '  As  he  said 
the  words,  as  though  forcing  his  lips  to  lay  bare  a  wound, 
he  winced  visibly.  Then  he  pulled  himself  together  again 
perceptibly  and  went  on,  dully,  ' '  I  love  a  woman  hope- 
lessly." 

That  was  all.  It  was  evident  that  the  recounter  of  this 
simple  story,  old  and  pitiful  and  hackneyed,  considered  he 
was  telling  something  entirely  new,  a  relation  which  for 
unmitigated  sadness  would  ever  remain  unmated. 

Mrs.  Markoe  had  bent  her  eyes  upon  his  firmly,  as 
though  bracing  herself,  when  he  began.  When  he  ended, 
the  tiny  lace  handkerchief,  which  lay  in  her  lap  under  the 
cozily  appointed  supper-table,  had  assumed  a  curiously 
distorted  shape.  Almost  it  looked  as  if  it,  too,  had 
winced. 

"  I  should  say,"  she  answered,  coolly — her  tone  was  un- 
sympathetic to  a  degree,  as  though  unrequited  love  were 
far  from  her,  because  she  could  not,  or  would  not,  under- 
stand it — "that  you  had  been  unfortunate  ;  but " 

He  interrupted  her  harshly,  bitterly.    "  '  Unfortunate  !'  " 

"  Wait.  That  you  had  been  unfortunate,  but  that  time 
heals  everything,  and  that  some  day,  oh,"  at  his  impatient 
gesture,  "  perhaps  years  hence"  in  answer  to  his  withering 

56 


A  DEFEATED   HANDICAP 

look  of  utter  incredulity,  "you  might  recover,  and  love 
again. ' ' 

' '  Never, ' '  he  said.  ' '  That  shows  how  little  a  woman 
can  gauge  a  man's  heart." 

"  Is  it  so  much  more  loving,  then,  than  a  woman's  ?"  she 
asked,  with  unexpected  scorn.  ' '  Since  you  say  your  love 
is  hopeless,  why  not  seek  to  forget  it  ?' ' 

But  as  she  heard  herself  giving  forth  the  brave  words 
nobody  knew  better  than  she  how  hard  they  sounded,  how 
unelastic,  how  futile,  too,  in  the  present  emergency. 

' '  I  would  not  wish  to  forget, ' '  she  heard  him  responding, 
earnestly,  ' '  rather  I  would — keep — it  as  it — is. ' ' 

His  eyes — such  miserable  eyes — were  devouring  every 
line  of  her  face,  her  hair,  her  little,  scornful,  classic  nose,  the 
hand  and  arm  which  lay  so  carelessly  across  the  table,  so 
perilously  near  his  coat-sleeve.  ' '  I  would  loathe  myself, ' ' 
he  burst  forth,  hoarsely,  "did  I  ever  forget  her.  She  is 
matchless,  perfect,  and, ' '  almost  with  a  groan,  ' '  unattain- 
able." 

"Ah  !  That's  it,"  she  cried,  with  a  forced  laugh,  "  '  the 
unattainable  !'  The  acme  always  of  a  man's  ambition  ! 
And  if  you  attained,  perhaps  you,  even  you,  with  all  your 
exalted  sense  of  chivalry,  with  all  your  old-fashioned  ideas 
of  conjugal  congeniality,  you  too  might  neglect  the  little 
daily  tendernesses  for  which  we  women — starve  !"  She 
stopped  abruptly. 

To  her  consternation,  he  was  looking  at  her  with  yearn- 
ing, pitying,  awakening  eyes. 

"Oh,  do  not  look  so  serious,"  she  cried,  hastily,  still 
with  that  strain  in  her  voice  which  was  so  foreign  to  con- 
tent ;  it  had  been  taken  on  not  only  in  this  latter  portion  of 
her  wild  little  speech.  ' '  I  am  not  talking  of  my  own  case, 
only  of  other  people's.  Stephen  is  all  that  any  reasonable 
woman  could  desire.  And  so  your  love  is  hopeless  ?' '  she 

57 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

said,  after  a  few  moments'  pause,  in  which  she  too  had 
drawn  a  little  back  from  the  supper-table,  and  had  looked 
up  at  a  clock  whose  pendulum  was  noisily  swinging  near 
her.  "  I  am  so  sorry. ' ' 

Then,  as  the  import  of  her  guarded  speech  was  with  him, 
he  stood  quietly,  having  risen. 

She  pushed  back  her  chair,  and  leaning  her  hands  upon 
the  table  before  her,  lifted  herself  erect.  Somehow  the 
movement  seemed  an  effort.  She  began  speaking  in  her 
every-day  voice,  the  voice  of  the  spoiled  woman  of  society 
who  positively  declines  to  lose  her  beauty-sleep  in  an  ar- 
gument over  so  fleeting  an  inconvenience  as  an  unfortunate 
love-affair.  ' '  I  wonder  what  our  friends  would  say  could 
they  see  us  now," — her  features  were  sparkling,  mischiev- 
ous, bonny.  ' '  Imagine  Mrs.  Markoe,  the  American  Am- 
bassadress, talking  seriously  with  Mr.  Conway,  at  midnight, 
over  a  hopeless  love-affair  !' ' 

She  knew  that  ridicule  can  slay  the  veriest  tragic  situa- 
tion on  earth.  With  unhesitating  nerve  she  played  her 
best  card.  He  started  as  though  he  had  been  stung. 

' '  I  will  go, ' '  he  said.      ' '  You  have  dismissed  me. ' ' 

She  laughed.  "Well,  not  quite  that,  is  it?"  she  asked, 
teasingly ;  "and  yet" She  pointed  towards  the  clock. 

"  I  will  bid  you  good-by,"  he  said.  The  words  were 
firm.  He  was  standing  with  his  coat  over  his  arm,  and  his 
hat  in  his  hand.  He  had  marched  with  measured  tread 
out  into  the  hall,  and  had  quietly  detached  them  from  the 
hat-rack  as  she  stood  watching  him  silently. 

The  room,  in  that  moment  of  his  absence  from  it.  had 
been  oddly  still. 

Mrs.  Markoe  had  not  stirred  an  inch. 

Breathlessly  she  watched  the  man's  figure  turn  from  her, 
detach  the  light  overcoat,  and  turn  her  way  again. 

Her  way  ! 

58 


A   DEFEATED   HANDICAP 

A  thought  had  lit  up  her  mind  of  an  engraving  she  had 
seen  on  the  dingy  wall  of  a  country  hotel  somewhere  near 
Mount  Desert, — a  mother  lifting  her  anguished  face  to  kiss 
her  soldier  boy  farewell :  such  a  pitiful  countenance,  its 
predominating  characteristic,  unmitigated  resolve. 

She  glanced  at  a  mirror  near  her.  Slowly,  very  slowly 
and  tranquilly,  with  the  calm  which  is  born  of  desperation, 
she  mastered  the  expression  in  her  own  face.  Had  it  too 
been  anguished  ?  Why  ?  She,  who  did  not  believe  in 
presentiments  ! 

But  the  face  that  Conway's  eyes  fell  upon,  in  despairing 
fashion,  as  he  turned  for  the  last  time  in  her  direction,  was 
radiant  and  quite  self-possessed. 

' '  Bon  voyage, ' '  she  said,  brightly,  laying  her  hand  in  his 
extended  one  with  just  the  correct  measure  of  cordiality 
admissible  between  the  matron  and  the  boy  ;  ' '  bon  voyage, 
and  a  safe  return. ' ' 

"  I  am  grateful. ' ' 

Before  she  could  prevent  him  he  had  bent  and  kissed  the 
slender  fingers  in  his  grasp. 

She  drew  back. 

' '  A  French  custom, ' '  she  remarked,  coldly,  ' '  which  I 
consider  meaningless. ' ' 

Her  heart  smote  her. 

He  was  regarding  her  with  the  dumb  gaze  of  a  tortured 
animal. 

"  Good-by,"  he  said,  as  though  quoting  from  her  book. 
He  was,  in  truth,  past  questioning  her  manners  or  her 
methods.  All  he  saw  was  the  debonair,  sparkling  counte- 
nance, which  had  made  his  happiness  complete  once  in  a 
sunny  past  that  seemed  slowly  drifting  out. 

"To  victory  !"  she  cried,  with  a  thrill  in  her  voice. 

At  that  moment  he  turned  again  to  look  at  her. 

She  was  standing  behind  him  on  the  threshold  as  he 

59 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

started  to  descend  the  stairs  ;  a  vivid,  graceful  figure,  the 
spirited  chin  well  up,  the  sweet  eyes  fixed,  and  strangely 
still. 

"Ah!     But  if  it  is  defeat  ?" 

'  '  Defeat  !'  '  she  retaliated,  incredulously  ;  "  we  are  of  the 
stuff  which  will  not  brook  defeat.  '  ' 


CHAPTER  VII 

A   VERY    GREAT   LADY 

THE  Duchesse  de  Launoy  was  giving  a  breakfast  for  a 
young  poet,  her  latest  prote'ge',  when  Lamballe  entered,  an 
hour  after  his  interview  with  Monod.  Condorcet  was  a 
timid  young  fellow  whom  the  French  capital'  s  social  leader 
had  discovered  in  an  attic,  at  Courbevoie,  on  her  rounds  as 
a  mother  of  mercy.  She  had  picked  up  the  sheets  on  the 
common  deal  table  before  him,  after  listening  attentively  to 
his  halting  story,  and  had  cast  her  penetrating  eyes  over 
the  words  scribbled  thereupon. 

The  sonnet  possessed  unusual  merit.  The  Duchesse  was 
a  trifle  sceptical  as  regarded  genius.  She  had  run  across 
so  much  notoriety  which  had  no  background  but  influence, 
—  often  her  own  too  sympathetic  influence.  She  inclined 
involuntarily  before  this  ragged-  sleeved  nobody  with  the 
record  of  abused  midnight  oil  in  his  pallid  cheeks  and 
faded  eyes.  A  few  days  afterwards  she  had  sent  a  liveried 
servant  to  bid  him  come  to  her. 

It  was  the  day  of  his  life. 

He  recalled  years  afterwards  that  enchanting  morning  in 
his  famous  patroness's  airy  breakfast-room  ;  its  frame  of 
aviaries  and  flowering  plants  ;  its  ceiling  in  pure  white  bas- 
reliefs  of  Cupids  wreathing  roses  about  an  angel  face.  The 

60 


A  VERY  GREAT  LADY 

beauties  in  his  sonnet  were  publicly  enlarged  upon  by  an 
individual  who  was  on  the  top  rung  of  fame,  a  lion  who,  at 
a  hint  from  his  hostess,  took  his  precious  time  to  tell  her 
poet,  in  no  guarded  style,  that  he  would  give  his  right  arm 
to  be  able  to  write  as  perfect  a  specimen  as  the  one  under 
discussion.  For  glow  and  conviction,  for  construction, 
for  metaphor,  the  great  writer  declared  it  to  be  a  chef 
d'ceuvre.  Where,  he  asked,  had  Condorcet  wooed  his 
muse  ? 

The  poet  replied,  in  a  trembling  voice, — that  select 
party  read  between  the  lines,  an  acquired  habit  with  the 
pulse-hasteners  of  the  Western  hemisphere, — something 
to  the  effect  that  the  nature  which  has  been  repressed  in- 
variably lets  forth  its  message  to  the  world- — a  wandering 
shade  of  oversoul — a  child  crying  in  the  night. 

When  the  lad  paused  as  though  out  of  breath,  Margue- 
rite de  Launoy  sighed  unaffectedly,  dried  her  eyes,  and 
smiled. 

Then  Lamballe  came  in. 

His  hostess  bade  him  be  seated,  and  listen  to  her  poet's 
story.  But  by  this  Condorcet  had  shrunk  into  himself. 
He  suddenly  realized  the  contrast  he  presented  with  that 
magic  interior.  His  inspiration  deserted  him.  He  drooped 
visibly.  Suffering  becomes  second  nature  ;  it  may  not  be 
thrown  off  at  command  even  by  a  poet  who  has  for  years 
struggled  unseen,  unlistened  to. 

So  the  Duchesse  temporarily  drew  the  kind  scrutiny  of 
her  guests  away  from  his  flushed  countenance,  and  began 
talking  with  Lamballe  upon  the  topic  of  the  day.  All 
Paris  was  agog  over  the  great  dramatist's  coming  play, 
which  was  to  be  presented  a  day  or  two  later  at  the  Fran- 
9ais. 

"  It's  a  go,"  he  stated,  succinctly.  He  had  been  super- 
intending rehearsals  for  a  month.  He  looked  fagged. 

61 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

The  Duchesse,  who  understood  him  better  than  any  one 
of  her  generation,  recognized  some  disheartened  lines  in 
his  frank  physiognomy. 

"A  la  bonne  heure,"  returned  she,  in  response  to  his 
disclosure.  ' '  Do  you  hear  that,  Vodillet  ?' '  she  called 
down  the  table  to  a  long-haired  individual  who  was  arguing 
violently  with  a  deputy  next  him.  ' '  The  premiere  is  to  be 
the  night  after  to-morrow.  Ferdinand  states  its  success  is 
assured. ' ' 

1 '  I  have  secured  the  best  talent  the  Franjais  can  offer, ' ' 
added  Lamballe. 

"  Paris  knows  when  her  favorite  child  has  proved  his 
worth, ' '  proudly  asserted  the  Duchesse.  ' '  The  theme, ' '  in- 
sistently, "tell  us  of  the  theme." 

' '  The  old  story, ' '  vouchsafed  Lamballe.  ' '  The  story 
of  the  humbug  of  this  epoch.  The  fatuity  of  poor  human 

nature  presuming  it  can  superintend  the  will  of ,"  he 

stopped.     He  cast  a  quick,  suspicious  glance  at  the  listen- 
ing faces  about  him. 

The  little  circle,  which  consisted  of  eleven  men  and 
women,  had  turned  involuntarily  towards  this  magnet  in 
their  midst.  The  faces  were  alive,  each  one  indicative  of  a 
nimble  wit. 

' '  As  opposed  to  the  will  of ?' '  urged  the  Duchesse. 

"  Of  a  Higher  Power,"  answered  Lamballe,  reverently. 

There  was  a  chorus  of  protests. 

"  But  what  would  we  do  without  science  ?  Answer  me 
that,  Ferdinand." 

"And  progress, — the  progress  you  advocate?" 

"And  the  law  of  preservation, — where  does  it  come 
in?" 

' '  What  heresy  have  you  swung  your  plot  on  now,  mon 
ami?"  demanded  the  Duchesse  in  her  sonorous  voice,  after 
the  tempest  of  questions  had  died  out. 

62 


A  VERY  GREAT   LADY 

' '  The  heresy  of  medicine.  The  fallacy  of  cure  in  general 
as  opposed  to  the  will  of  God  in  particular.  The  presump- 
tion of  man's  belief  that  he  may  conquer  what  the  Re- 
deemer commands.  You  know  Caracci  ?' '  The  physician 
named  was  conspicuous  for  having  declared  himself  the  dis- 
coverer of  an  infallible  cure. 

' '  Yes  !' '  shouted  Vodillet,  with  emphasis.  Caracci  had 
failed  to  heal  the  great  journalist's  son  of  an  inherited 
malady,  after  declaring  himself  supreme  in  this  speciality. 

' '  I  have  imagined  Caracci  himself  in  the  clutch  of  an  in- 
vincible disease,"  stated  Lamballe,  tersely. 

' '  Admirable, ' '  remarked  a  woman  in  one  corner.  She 
had  quitted  the  table.  Her  elbows  resting  on  a  bracket 
back  of  her,  her  head  thrown  forward,  she  cast  her  eyes  up 
rapturously  towards  the  sun-flecked  ceiling.  She  longed 
for  the  unfolding  of  a  plot — a  rarissima  avis  in  Paris — which 
might  be  fraught  with  novelty. 

' '  It  will  create  a  tremendous  sensation, ' '  asserted  the 
Duchesse,  with  sang-froid.  Her  practised  acumen  rose  to 
an  emergency  with  relish.  She  had  always  claimed  that 
Lamballe  enjoyed  throwing  his  glove  to  the  dogs  of  public 
opinion.  When  the  agony  was  over,  he  stooped,  picked  it 
up,  brushed  off  the  dust,  rearranged  the  pieces,  and  util- 
ized the  abominable  treatment  it  had  received  as  a  lesson 
instead  of  an  assault. 

With  one  delicate  hand  she  was  holding  a  bunch  of 
grapes.  In  her  other,  the  right  one,  she  was  plying  a 
pair  of  grape-scissors  in  the  form  of  a  stork.  She  placed 
the  bunches,  when  she  had  done  detaching  them  from  the 
main  stem,  upon  a  silver  dish,  and  bade  the  maitre  d' hotel 
distribute  them  among  her  guests,  some  of  whom  by  this 
time  had  risen.  Others  were  lighting  their  cigarettes. 

"  What  is  the  title  ?" 

"  'Avoided.'" 

63 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

' '  We  are  to  suppose,  then,  that  Caracci  '  avoids'  the  in- 
evitable?" 

' '  You  are  to  suppose  that  Caracci  avoids,  through  a  mer- 
ciful death,  the  revelation  of  his  own  too  pitiful  failure." 

"Ah  !  It  is  a  piece  a  clef,"  mused  the  Duchesse.  "  In 
a  piece  a  clef,"  she  explained  rapidly  to  the  poet,  in  re- 
sponse to  the  unworded  question  in  his  listening  face,  ' '  the 
main  roles  are  assumed  by  the  players  in  as  exact  as  possi- 
ble a  similitude  of  the  living  characters'  habiliments  and 
idiosyncrasies.  It  requires  a  dramatist  of  very  unusual 
capacity,  of  tact,  and  of  vast  wit,  to  do  this  thing.  Lam- 
balle  is  the  foremost  at  it.  He  cuts  deep." 

"The  method  is  a  new  one,  is  it  not?"  inquired  the 
poet,  timidly,  in  his  thin,  high  voice. 

' '  On  the  contrary,  it' s  as  old  as  the  hills, ' '  remarked  Lam- 
balle.  '  'Are  we  not,  nous  autres  thinkers,  constantly  seek- 
ing to  solve  the  problem  of  life  ?  Why  not  try  and  guess 
the  riddle  of  death?" 

' '  But  death  is  extinction, ' '  implored  the  poet,  in  his  flexi- 
ble voice,  with  distended  eyes. 

1 '  Yes.  Then  why  object  to  it,  enfant  ?  There  are  losses 
all  through  our  lives  far  more  agonizing  than  the  loss  of 
breath." 

"I  know,"  answered  the  boy,  very  low.  The  whole 
gamut  of  his  past  sufferings  stood  revealed  in  his  answer. 
The  conviction  in  the  face  of  Lamballe'  s  outspoken  fling  at 
falsity,  that  he  was  one  of  the  forgotten  of  God  and  men, 
was  with  him  once  again  in  its  fullest  force. 

Lamballe  contemplated  him  piercingly.  He  wore  cus- 
tomarily the  introspective  gaze  of  the  thinker.  Trained 
observation  revealed  to  him  the  famished  lines  about  the 
poet's  lips,  the  hollow  curves  in  the  delicate  temples. 

"Hand  over  that  sonnet,"  commanded  the  dramatist, 
peremptorily.  The  boy  obeyed.  Lamballe  perused  it,  scep- 

64 


THE  UNDERTOW 

tically  at  first.  As  he  read  his  attention  grew.  His  ex- 
pression softened  reverently.  His  black  eyes  with  their 
powerful  brows,  eyes  which  mocked  and  jeered,  mostly, 
because  of  having  mastered  the  fact  of  the  ineptitudes  of 
life,  grew  profoundly  earnest. 

He  glanced  across  at  the  Duchesse,  who  was  watching 
him  and  the  poet  with  the  brooding  look  of  a  mother  bird 
guarding  her  nest. 

"  My  old  friend,  thou  has  found  a  thing  which  will  live," 
he  pronounced,  deeply  moved. 

'  '  You  know  my  belief,  '  '  she  responded,  quietly.  '  '  The 
gifted  human  being  is  an  instrument  straight  from  on  high." 

There  is,  perhaps,  as  much  rejoicing  in  heaven  over  a 
soul  that  repenteth  as  in  France  when  a  new  genius  is  dis- 
covered. If  there  is  more,  it  is  because  the  quality  of  the 
listening  hosts  is  chosen,  and  the  spurious  in  achievement, 
happily,  an  unknown  quantity. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  UNDERTOW 

SUBSEQUENTLY,  when  the  Duchesse'  s  guests  had  de- 
parted, Lamballe's  reserve  crumbled  away.  He  seemed 
all  at  once  endowed  with  a  devil  which  would  out.  His 
speech,  habitually  more  trenchant  than  that  of  most  of  his 
contemporaries,  sprang  up  and  flamed.  It  was  the  thor- 
oughly equipped  output  of  the  man  who  works,  rejoices, 
and  observes  to  a  superlative  extent.  But  to-day  its  pre- 
dominating accent  was  a  death-knell  to  peace.  He  flung 
out  cynical  syllogisms,  imagining  his  case,  proving  it,  and 
watching  its  throes  with  fine  irony.  He  rejected  his  chosen 
confidante's  protest,  to  her  gentle  dismay,  —  that  protest 

65 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

which  had  hitherto  made  way  with  him,  of  human  nature's 
foremost  duty  to  itself.  He  stormed  like  a  poisonous  wasp 
desirous  of  inserting  its  sting  in  every  corner  of  the  stately 
room  to  which  they  had  withdrawn  that  they  might  unin- 
terruptedly exchange  confidences. 

No  hint  of  hers  touched  him  ;  no  venture  seemed  equal 
to  coping  with  his  violence.  At  last  she  sat  silent,  watch- 
ing him  pitifully,  as  he  paced  to  and  fro  clamorously  pur- 
suing an  imaginary  contest  against  wrong,  perfidy,  intoler- 
ance. Oddly  enough,  this  accomplished  thinker  appeared 
to  have  suddenly  forgotten  that  his  attitude  expressed  all 
three. 

The  force  of  the  Latin  race  expends  itself  more  by  protest 
than  in  action.  His  present  mood  was  a  new  one  with 
Lamballe.  His  watcher  took  note  of  it  uneasily.  Where 
was  the  calm  of  the  high-minded  philosopher,  the  cool  con- 
tempt of  the  critic  whose  standard  had  been  tampered  with  ? 
Here  was  an  individual  wasting  his  energy  where  it  would 
have  commanded  respect  by  silence. 

His  brows,  like  shelving  roofs,  knit  up  in  a  fretwork  of 
deepest  lines,  his  eyes  two  jets  of  sombre  flame,  scorching, 
feverish,  his  nostrils  dilated,  his  figure  erect,  the  muscles 
stiffened  as  though  ready  for  action,  his  head  thrown  up 
as  if  to  the  last  striving  to  prove  itself  victorious,  he  strode 
with  palpable  bitterness  the  way  of  the  soul  which  claims 
its  just  due. 

His  listener  waited  patiently.  She  had  a  refutal  ready 
for  each  cutting  dart  the  speaker  let  forth,  a  remedy  for 
every  revulsion  of  feeling.  First  and  last  she  felt  contempt 
for  a  cowardice  which  proclaims  its  impotence  aloud.  She 
knew  that  to  voice  a  pain  is  to  reject  its  most  soothing  balm, 
— that  of  secrecy. 

But  still  she  waited. 

And  at  last,  like  a  tired  child  who  has  spent  his  wrath 

66 


THE  UNDERTOW 

wantonly  and  comes  home  to  be  punished,  he  threw  him- 
self upon  an  embroidered  stool  at  her  feet  and  was  still. 

Only  then  did  she  lay  down  her  knitting,  about  which 
her  slender  white  fingers  had  been  creeping  like  mice.  In 
the  act  she  let  her  hand  fall  against  his  shoulder  and  felt 
with  keen  sympathy  the  rigid  muscles  through  the  cloth 
of  his  coat.  The  veins  in  his  temples  stood  out  like  whip- 
cords. 

' '  The  old  pain,  Ferdinand  ?' '  very  pitifully. 

' '  The  same.  It  is  my  lot  to  be  yoked  with  insufficiency. ' ' 
He  was  looking  back  at  her  with  stormy  eyes,  as  though 
swept  by  a  hurricane  which  had  uprooted  many  a  living 
thing  in  its  mad  might. 

"I  do  not  understand.  I  never  have  comprehended 
your  unrest.  Life  is  full  for  you.  You  are  famous.  The 
world  is  at  your  feet.  What  could  man  ask  more  ?' ' 

"  I  thought  the  thing  was  dead,"  he  murmured,  desper- 
ately, ' '  until  to-day.  Am  I  an  infant  to  be  stirred  like 
this,  by  memory,  when  the  daily  facts  which  move  most 
people  pass  by  me  like  a  breath  across  a  mirror  ?  Will  my 
time  never  come  wherein  I  shall  suffer  no  more,  just  wait, 
like  a  tired  child,  my  turn  to  be  stricken  once  for  all? 
What  a  coward  I  am,  chere  amie  !  At  a  breath  from  the 
past  my  blood  curdles,  my  muscles  stiffen,  my  judgment  is 
muddy.  My  vaunted  will, ' '  ironically,  ' '  becomes  a  shadow, 
substanceless,  like  paper.  I  am  sick  and  tired." 

He  drew  one  powerful  hand  across  his  forehead.  His 
face  was  haunted,  gray. 

"But  your  work,"  murmured  the  Duchesse's  pained 
voice.  "  Our  need  of  you.  Think  of  the  hundreds  whom 
you  feed  and  clothe.  You  exhale  the  breath  of  new  life 
into  your  people's  nostrils.  Is  not  that  consciousness 
enough  to  insure  content?" 

She  had  dropped  her  knitting-needles,  which  for  the  past 

67 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

few  seconds  she  had  vainly  striven  to  manipulate  efficiently. 
She  gazed  at  Lamballe  with  pleading  eyes. 

' '  Fame  P '  he  went  on.  ' '  What  is  fame  in  the  place  of 
love  ?  Success  !  What  is  the  success  one  acquires  in  the 
face  of  the  success  one  has  striven  for  and  failed  at? 
Charity  !  Aye,  I  have  been  charitable.  Where  is  the 
charity  that  should  have  been  meted  out  to  me  ?' ' 

His  was  the  face  of  an  avenging  angel  by  this  time.  He 
was  asking  questions  of  the  air,  of  the  room,  of  the  frown- 
ing pictures  in  their  sixteenth  century  frames  upon  the 
walls. 

"Ah,  old  friend,  the  world  thinks  that  success  is  what  I 
crave,  success  in  being  a  consoler  instead  of  a  participator 
in  the  joys  which  have  been  denied  me.  What  am  I  ? 
Merely  the  spur  to  other  men's  content, — their  friend, 
perhaps, ' '  hopelessly.  ' '  Don' t  you  understand  now  ?  I 
have  looked  at  happiness  all  my  life  '  through  other  men's 
eyes.'  I  want  my  own." 

The  tall  figure  had  begun  its  striding  up  and  down  again, 
down  and  up,  with  heavy,  heedless  feet.  The  face  was  hag- 
gard ;  its  lines  furrowed.  They  seemed  to  have  set  deeper 
in  this  last  half-hour's  unbridled  fret. 

' '  But  there  are  many  women  even  yet, ' '  began  the 
Duchesse,  timidly. 

He  checked  her  instantly  with  a  frown.  "There  are 
usually  three  women  for  a  man  :  the  woman  whom  he  de- 
sires and  who  is  not  desirous  of  him  ;  the  woman  who  is  de- 
sirous of  him  and  of  whom  he  is  not  desirous ;  and  the 
woman  of  whom  he  is  desirous,  who  is  desirous  of  him, 
and  whom  Fate  decrees  he  may  not  have." 

"And  for  a  woman  there  are  but  two  men,"  returned 
the  Duchesse,  dryly  ;  she  had  been  a  widow  for  thirty 
years,  and  was  an  accomplished  philosopher:  "the  man 
who  desires  what  he  may  not  have,  and  the  man  who  dis- 

68 


THE   UNDERTOW 

regards  what  is  his.     Perhaps,  who  can  tell,  he  may  be  one 
and  the  same. ' ' 

"  What  brought  it  near  you?"  she  inquired,  later. 

' '  A  mere  chance.  The  case  came  up  four  years  ago. 
It  concerned  my  deeply  rooted  prejudice  against  abandon- 
ing Carembourg  to  a  horde  of  vandals.  It  broke  out  again 
to-day.  The  American  is  at  our  door  again.  I  shall  not 
let  him  in." 

"The  American  !     Was  she  then  an  American ?" 

"You  did  not  know?"  he  answered,  feebly,  in  a  shaken, 
incredulous  fashion. 

"I  !"  ejaculated  the  Duchesse,  in  the  utmost  astonish- 
ment. ' '  How  should  I  know  ?' ' 

' '  But  it  was  chez  vous,"  he  asserted,  in  that  queer,  dazed 
manner  which  was  so  pathetic. 

The  Duchesse  rose.  She  let  her  knitting-needles  fall  un- 
heeded to  the  ground. 

' '  I  beg  of  you,  Ferdinand, ' '  she  cried,  authoritatively, 
"what  is  this  mystery?" 

' '  There  is  no  mystery, ' '  he  returned,  instantly.  ' '  It  was 
Madeleine  Farragut." 

"  Madeleine  Farragut !" 

She  lifted  her  hand  now,  in  a  blind,  stumbling  fashion,  to 
her  forehead.  Madeleine  Farragut !  Her  friend,  her  life- 
long friend  !  ' '  You  speak  of  those  days,  years  ago,  at  La 
Valliere  ?' '  she  whispered. 

Her  voice  came  to  Lamballe  as  through  a  mist. 

"La  Valliere?  Yes,"  he  answered,  slowly,  caressingly. 
His  memory  was  throbbing,  too.  ' '  Yes.  It  was  at  La 
Valliere.  Strange,  you  never  knew. " 

"  No,"  returned  the  Duchesse,  faintly. 

She  was  seeing  many  things  which  she  had  never  even 
suspected  before  :  the  cause  for  forgotten  enigmas  in  her 
brain  ;  certain  questions  without  answers  ;  answers  to  stray 

69 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

interrogations.  The  Duchesse  had  all  her  well-ordered  life 
been  fond  of  quoting  the  sins  of  omission  to  be  greater  than 
those  of  commission.  She  had  sinned,  indeed.  How  blind 
she  had  been  ;  how  much  more  than  blind  !  Be"te  !  Was 
there  nothing  now  that  she  might  do?  A  sudden  light 
beamed  across  her  face.  She  drew  herself  up.  She  crossed 
the  room,  steadily,  to  where  Lamballe  stood  with  his  back 
to  her.  He  was  staring  blindly  at  a  golden  crucifix  on 
which  a  silver  Christ,  the  piteous  thorn-crowned  head  of 
peculiarly  exquisite  workmanship,  hung,  wearing  its  sublime 
expression  of  heroic  martyrdom. 

' '  And  you  have  carried  that  scar  in  your  heart  all  these 
years  ?' '  she  asked. 

Lamballe  made  no  answer. 

Her  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  ' '  But  it  is  almost  unheard 
of !' '  cried  the  Duchesse.  Then  she  added,  as  though  to 
herself,  "  And  we  are  told  that  man  is  faithless." 

1 '  Would  that  he  were, ' '  breathed  Lamballe,  huskily. 

' '  My  friend, ' '  she  said,  laying  her  hand  against  his 
arm.  ' '  Come,  seat  yourself  near  me,  and  tell  me  of  your 
grief.  That  poor  heart  must  be  congested. ' ' 

She  drew  him  onto  a  sofa  beside  her. 

"  I  cannot,"  he  muttered,  after  a  little,  in  a  stifled  voice, 
springing  up.  ' '  Let  me  tell  it  my  own  way. ' ' 

He  again  began  pacing  the  floor  rapidly,  stopping  at 
intervals  as  though  to  concentrate  all  his  strength  upon 
stating  as  minutely  as  possible  the  color,  the  feel  of  the 
period  he  was  striving  to  put  before  her.  But  he  visibly 
recognized  his  words  to  be  shadows,  providing  for  sub- 
stance vapor  instead  of  flesh  and  blood.  The  words  alone 
were  pallid,  however ;  the  subject-matter  was  radiantly 
alive, — the  vital  era  of  a  man's  first  love. 


LAMBALLE'S  STORY 

CHAPTER    IX 
LAMBALLE'S  STORY 

"You  must  imagine  her  en  toute  beaute1,"  he  began, 
hoarsely.  "Fancy  me,  too,  young  and  hopeful,  not  the 
worn  individual  you  see  now. ' ' 

He  checked  himself  a  moment.     Then  he  continued, — 

' '  It  was  when  you  instituted  those  hawking  parties  in 
the  forest  of  La  Valliere  after  the  manner  of  Francis  I. 
I  can  see  the  spaces  in  the  woods  between  the  bay-trees, 
which  stood  in  clusters,  where  the  sun  shot  through  its 
yellow  bars  of  light.  I  can  see,  too,  the  more  ancient 
portions  of  the  forest,  where  the  gloom  was  copl  and  still. 
I  can  see  her,  cannot  you  ?  Her  hair  was  a  wonderful 
color, — like  that  of  our  impe'ratrice.  Her  profile  was  the 
chaste  outline  of  Diane.  She  had  the  delicate  features, 
the  rose-leaf  bloom,  of  the  women  of  her  race.  I  can 
picture  her  with  the  morning  in  her  face,  and  again  in 
the  moonlight  when  we  met  to  kiss  and  clasp  and  vow. 
Such  vows  !  Was  there  any  proof  of  faith  she  did  not 
give  me?  Was  there  a  feat  on  earth  I  would  not  have 
attempted  for  her  ?' ' 

He  drew  his  hand  across  his  burning  eyes.  His  features 
quivered.  With  an  effort  he  controlled  them. 

' '  How  I  loved  her  !  I  remember  the  world  took  on  a 
new  meaning  for  me.  Up  to  then  the  bird's  songs  had 
seemed  shrill  and  tuneless.  They  now  were  symphonies 
rehearsed  for  our  benefit.  The  sun  grew  warm.  The  sky 
stretched,  a  perpetual  blue,  off  towards  a  limitless  horizon 
which  I  longed  to  reach.  The  world  was  made  of  gold  ; 
a  poem,  telling  but  one  sweet  story, — ours  !  Her  father 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

had  been  sent  out  to  represent  his  home  government. 
He  brought  her,  his  only  daughter,  with  him.  You  re- 
member ?' ' 

The  Duchesse  nodded.  She  could  not  speak.  She, 
too,  was  wandering  in  the  fastnesses  of  those  woods  of 
hers,  disporting  with  her  bidden  guests,  witnessing  their 
enjoyment,  with  the  then  new  agony  of  loss  in  her  heart 
which  she  had  so  bravely  determined  to  stifle  with  con- 
stant prayer  and  useful  deeds.  How  strangely  still  her 
grief  was  to-day,  and  patient  !  She  had  almost  grown 
to  love  it, — a  friend  that,  never  changing,  held  in  its 
depths  fidelity,  illusion,  fulfilment, — the  souls  of  love  and 
life. 

Lamballe  stooped  and  plucked  a  piece  of  drooping  hya- 
cinth from  its  stem.  It  grew  in  a  wrought  silver  jar  at  his 
elbow.  He  contemplated  the  tiny,  bell-like  flower  wist- 
fully. Then  he  laid  it  down.  The  gesture  said  it  had 
ever  been  his  portion  to  put  sweetness  and  light  away 
from  him. 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  came  about,  just,"  he  murmured, 
after  a  little.  ' '  Ah,  now  I  remember  !  One  day  I  doubted. 
It  seemed  too  much  to  ask  !  She,  to  love  a  brute  like 
me  !  She  knew.  Out  of  her  womanly  mercy  she  bade 
me  doubt  no  longer."  His  voice  took  on  a  wondering, 
joyous  note,  merely  at  the  recollection. 

The  Duchesse  was  gazing  at  him  still  with  those  wide, 
moist  eyes,  pools  wherein  the  tears  seemed  glistening,  held 
back  against  the  white  lids,  awaiting  their  own  time  to  fall. 

' '  She  loved  me, ' '  continued  Lamballe,  solemnly,  a 
thrill  in  his  voice,  which  had  all  at  once  grown  rich  and 
ringing.  "  In  that  day  she  was  truthful.  It  was  my  day, 
our  hour.  No  one  had  taught  her  to  be  mercenary — yet. 
We  learn  that,"  very  low,  and  with  supreme  contempt. 
' '  She  was  unspoiled.  We  loved  each  other  like  grave 

72 


LAMBALLE'S   STORY 

children  who  reverently  accept  the  munificent  gift  proffered 
them  with  a  full  realization  of  its  value.  If  in  my  young 
madness  I  forgot  for  the  time  to  consider  her  interests, 
that  was  but  momentary.  The  thought  slowly  framed 
itself  as  the  sense  strengthened  in  me  of  the  great  responsi- 
bility I  assumed  in  agreeing  to  shape  and  carry  through 
her  happiness.  I  bore  a  great  name.  That  was  all  though. 
The  estate  was  heavily  encumbered.  I  was  practically 
penniless.  I  held  a  position  under  Gontran  in  those  days. 
You  remember?  His  secretary.  He  was  a  government 
official  with  vast  power.  My  position  came  to  me  through 
my  father's  influence,  before  his  death.  Gontran' s  was  an 
uneven,  fiery  nature,  which  broke  out  in  queer  places. 
One  day,  in  a  fit  of  rage,  he  dismissed  me.  Then  I  awoke 
to  facts.  I  told  her  how  rash  I  had  been,  how  we  must 
wait ;  that  I  could  not  ask  her  to  waste  her  youth  thus, 
but  that  I  would  be  patient  all  my  life  ;  that  I  must  go 
away  and  work  ;  that  here  all  my  energies  were  stunted, 
dwarfed, — my  great  love  for  her  made  me  practically  im- 
potent. She  said  that  she  had  money  in  her  own  right, 
and  that  I  must  take  it.  I  was  too  proud.  Since  then  I 
have  learned  that  he  who  accepts  nobly  is  far  finer  than  he 
who  gives  !  At  my  refusal  she  threw  her  arms  about  my 
neck  and  implored  me,  like  the  child  she  was,  to  remain 
with  her, — not  work, — anything  rather  than  leave  her. 
I  refused.  Her  father  had  been  obstinate  as  regarded  our 
union  because  of  my  poverty.  I  was  wounded  to  the 
quick.  I  determined  to  prove  my  mettle.  I  often  think, 
now  that  the  years  have  sped,  that  did  poor  human  nature 
know  enough  to  hold  fast  its  most  sacred  joys,  to  submit 
with  less  resignation  to  loss  or  change,  perhaps  it  would 
not  expend  its  forces  in  after  years  in  imaginings  of  what 
it  might  once  have  done.  Surely  we  have  the  right  to 
happiness.  We  are  brought  up  to  believe  ourselves 

73 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

ignorant  of  what  is  best  for  us.     Why  then  are  we  given 
hearts  ?' ' 

He  was  looking  into  vacancy,  transfixed,  apparently,  at 
the  sombre  colors  of  his  own  destiny. 

The  Duchesse  saw  a  tear  fall  across  her  cheek  from  un- 
der the  lids  of  her  half-shut  eyes.  She  had  closed  them 
meekly.  It  was  more  than  she  could  bear  to  look  upon 
Lamballe's  working  face.  She  neither  moved  nor  spoke. 

' '  My  light, ' '  he  broke  forth,  harshly,  ' '  went  out.  I 
think  perhaps  she  was  coerced  by  those  about  her,  a 
worldly,  pleasure-loving  set,  her  friends.  She  was  so 
young  and  rarely  beautiful.  I  have  never  known  ;  that 
has  been  the  hardest  part,  to  have  never  even  known. 
At  St.  Petersburg  I  worked  to  still  the  throbbing  fever  in 
my  blood.  The  impatience  I  suffered  was  a  living  force. 
They  said  it  would  not  be  long  before  I  proved  myself  in- 
valuable. I  knew  that  would  command  a  price,  always. 
Her  letters  came.  They  were  girlish,  unchecked  ;  the 
outpour  of  a  loving  woman's  loyal  heart.  I  have  them 
still.  At  night  I  take  them  out  and  read  them  over  and 
over.  I  can  see  her  face,  her  lips,  her  eyes.  I  can  hear 
her  voice.  She  '  loved  me  so, '  they  read. ' '  Here  his 
voice  broke  off  short.  He  made  a  fierce  gesture,  and 
stumbled  on.  "  She  wrote  the  'days'  were  'long'  ;  they 
had  '  no  sunshine'  in  them.  They  were  '  not  the  old 
days.'  It  was  'not  the  same  world!'  I,  at  last,  had 
leave  given  me.  I  wrote  her  I  was  coming.  Such  a 
letter  !  It  almost  scorched  the  covers  in  which  it  was 
enwrapped.  'When  I  reach  you,'  it  read,  'remember 
nothing,  mignonne,  but  that  my  arms  are  hungry  for  you, 
my  lips  dry,  my  heart  drained  !'  ' 

The  Duchesse' s  face  was  drawn  and  white.  The  agony 
in  Lamballe's  voice  was  as  live  as  though  the  cause  for  it 
stood  close. 

74 


LAMBALLE'S   STORY 

"When  I  arrived  they  told  me  she  had  gone.  Her 
father  had  been  called  back.  His  term  was  over.  She,  his 
only  daughter,  went  with  him.  Not  a  word, — not  a  line. 
Even  then  I  never  doubted  ;  I  was  so  sure  she  loved  me. 
I  sent  a  cry  after  her  :  Why  had  she  gone,  and  wherefore  ? 
My  trust  was  absolute.  There  came  no  reply.  Then,  one 
day,  I  knew.  I  read  she  had  married  a  man  three  times 
her  age,  with  money.  And  she  had  been  rich, — I  loved  her, 
— I  was  young  !" 

' '  And  you  did  nothing  ?' ' 

' '  What  was  there  to  do  ?  My  dream  was  dead.  My 
bird  had  flown.  The  sun  had  vanished  from  my  sky.  It 
never  has  returned.  Ah,  perhaps  a  pale  ray,  sometimes, 
now  and  again  shines  on  me  through  the  blessings  of  a 
poor,  woman  or  the  smile  of  a  child.  I  am  not  one  of 
those  men,  chere  amie,  who  can  patch  up  a  memory  and 
call  it  truth.  I  wanted  the  best  of  life.  I  lost. ' ' 

There  was  a  long  pause. 

After  a  time  Lamballe's  voice  continued;  it  had  re- 
gained its  steadiness,  the  trenchant  tones  he  assumed  as 
his  disguise  reasserted  themselves.  "  I  have  my  love 
for  that  murdered  dream  with  me  always.  In  latter 
years  I  have  considered  that  enough.  She  chose  ;  not 
I.  She,  without  doubt,  suffered  the  consequences,  poor 
child,  as  we  all  must  suffer  when  we  choose  dross  instead 
of  gold." 

' '  And  you  have  forgiven  her  ?' ' 

It  was  the  Duchesse's  voice. 

' '  No, ' '  responded  Lamballe,  decisively,  without  an  in- 
stant' s  hesitation.  His  features  took  on  a  mortal  pallor  now. 
1 '  Have  souls  the  right  to  slay  one  another,  and  go  un- 
punished ?  Think  what  it  was  to  have  the  mainspring  of  a 
life  broken,  the  hands  shattered,  the  hours  set  at  variance. 
Other  men  can  fool  themselves  into  taking  what  they  can 

75 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

get,  perhaps.  I  failed.  That  acknowledgment  has  never 
passed  by  me." 

' '  And  this — this  is  the  source  of  all  your  bitterness,  old 
friend?" 

"  Is  it  not  enough  ?' '  asked  Lamballe. 

The  Duchesse  made  no  answer. 

A  man  who  elects  to  bear,  unmurmuring,  a  wrong,  to 
cloak  his  eternal  ache  with  merciful  deeds,  to  work  out 
others'  salvation  with  death  at  his  heart,  is  truly  noble. 
Despised  love  may  turn  and  sting  itself ;  it  may,  again,  bear 
richest  fruit,  but  the  renunciation  demanded  of  it  in  the 
latter  mortal  process  is  ten  times  more  acute  than  the  travail 
induced  by  natural  laws. 

' '  I  thank  you  for  your  confidence, ' '  murmured  the 
Duchesse,  softly. 

Lamballe  gripped  her  extended  hand.  ' '  I  am  weak, ' '  he 
acknowledged,  sadly. 

She  lifted  herself  to  her  feet,  and  placed  one  approving 
hand  against  his  powerful  shoulder.  ' '  There  are  weaker 
things  than  love  of  justice,"  she  stated  enigmatically,  add- 
ing, ' '  I  think  love  is  yours,  Ferdinand. ' ' 

He  shook  his  head. 

' '  The  love  of  your  fellow-men. ' ' 

"A  poor  apology  for  home  and  wife,"  he  whispered, 
painfully. 

She  did  not  contradict  him. 

Some  moments  later  she  changed  the  subject.  Their  con- 
versation caught  up  the  theme  of  the  coming  play.  After 
exhausting  that  topic,  the  Duchesse' s  annual  fete  came  under 
discussion.  The  Duchesse  recounted  a  story  of  a  rival  great 
lady  who  had  dared  to  say  she  would  outdo  her  ;  whereupon 
the  Duchesse  had  ordered  three  orchestras  instead  of  one, 
and  had  substituted  a  wing  at  the  end  of  her  banqueting 
hall,  which  was  to  be  a  marvel  of  ingenious  contrivance. 

76 


LAMBALLE'S   STORY 

Lamballe  suggested  some  novelties  which  his  listener  agreed 
to  adopt,  and,  finally,  refused  to  divulge  the  costume  in 
which  he  was  to  appear. 

She  finally  desisted. 

"  But  I  will  discover  you,  never  fear,"  said  she,  shaking 
her  finger  at  him. 

He  rose.  He  had  promised  to  be  present  at  Bagatelle  as 
umpire  at  the  polo  match.  Already  his  carriage  had  been 
announced. 

They  walked  down  the  long  room  together,  out  into  the 
great  hall,  which,  dome-ceilinged,  let  in  through  colored- 
glass  panes  patches  of  crimson  and  violet  and  amber. 

' '  There  will  be  a  number  of  new  costumes, ' '  exclaimed 
the  Duchesse, — she  was  like  a  child  ;  her  fete  had  taken  a 
vivid  hold  of  her  imagination,  ' '  and  the  ordinary  duplicates 
of  old  ones,  I  presume.  The  feature  which  promises  the 
most  amusement  is  that  none  of  your  sex  will  be  admitted, 
unless  masked." 

"  Vivandieres,"  remarked  Lamballe,  beginning  to  count 
off  on  his  fingers  as  he  drew  on  his  gloves,  ' '  a  folly  or 
two " 

' '  Oh,  as  for  that,  follies  always  come  in  threes,  I  have 
been  told,"  laughed  the  Duchesse. 

' '  The  customary  shepherdesses,  and  all  the  queens. ' ' 

"  Tiens  !"  cried  the  Duchesse,  "  I  had  almost  forgotten  ! 
There  will  be  a  rarely  perfect  Marie  Antoinette. ' ' 

She  stood  with  her  strong  head  thrown  back,  looking  at 
Lamballe  with  kindling,  benign  eyes.  They  held  a  hint  of 
light  malice  which  he  could  not  take  time  to  understand. 
He  saw  it,  however.  It  nettled  his  curiosity  somewhat. 

' '  Marie  Antoinette  ?' '  he  returned.  ' '  And  is  she  not  al- 
ways beautiful  and  perfect  ?  Would  it  be  indiscreet  were  I 
to  ask,  does  she  come  with  or  without  her  head,  chere 
amie?" 

77 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

The  Duchesse  was  observing  him  narrowly,  it  might 
have  been  said  with  a  slight  apprehension. 

She  brought  the  corners  of  her  eyes  together  in  a  peculiar 
fashion  as  she  retorted,  '  '  With  her  head  this  time.  What 
if  —  remarques-tu,  I  say  only  what  if-  —  she  won  your  heart, 
Ferdinand  ?'  ' 

"  Impossible  !"  protested  Lamballe.  He  was  descending 
the  broad  staircase  leisurely,  buttoning  his  glove.  He 
looked  back  over  his  shoulder.  The  purple  light  from  one 
of  the  windows  above  lay  across  his  face. 

'  '  Take  my  advice,  '  '  warned  the  Duchesse,  with  a  tremor 
in  her  voice,  "and  beware  of  Marie  Antoinette  !" 

'  '  Is  my  name  Lamballe,  '  '  cried  he,  with  mock  self- 
sufficiency,  "that  I  should  fear  my  Queen?" 

"And  yet,"  said  the  Duchesse,  full  fifteen  minutes 
afterwards,  —  she  stood  reflectively  where  her  guest  had 
taken  farewell  of  her,  her  gown  lifted  between  her  thumb 
and  first  finger,  her  foot  on  the  landing  of  the  stairway 
which  led  to  her  private  apartments,  and  which  she  began 
slowly  to  ascend,  —  "and  yet,"  she  murmured,  "I  can 
think  of  no  better  way  to  tell  him  that  Madeleine  Farragut 
is  in  Paris?" 

4  '  I  will  not  inform  Madeleine  of  our  interview,  '  '  she 
decided  that  night,  after  having  cogitated  all  day. 


CHAPTER    X 

THE    FRONTIER 

THE  Qth  of  June,  at  Carembourg,  in  the  Wallindorf 
valley,  two  masculine  figures  wended  their  way  across  the 
fertile  fields.  They  left  behind  them  an  inn  which  nestled 
in  a  hollow  a  few  paces  from  the  shabby  railway  station, 

78 


THE   FRONTIER 

They  pursued  their  route  silently  towards  a  point  in  the 
landscape  which  commanded  no  view  and  little  beauty. 

The  Wallindorf  valley  stretches,  a  broad  green  ribbon, 
between  tufts  of  hills  that  group  like  listening  spectators 
about  an  arena  of  verdure. 

The  highest  elevation  is  surmounted  by  a  quaint  chateau, 
architecturally  a  masterpiece  of  the  early  Italian  era.  The 
king  who  bestowed  upon  France  a  historical  new  birth  im- 
ported his  outlines,  with  his  hobbies,  from  the  prolific 
south. 

Once  arrived  at  a  point  in  the  picturesque  landscape,  the 
younger  man  swung  his  leather  sack  off  his  shoulders  and, 
whistling  softly  an  air  which  a  participator  in  the  doings  of 
the  active  world  might  have  easily  recognized  to  be  a 
popular  refrain,  an  echo  of  the  music  halls  in  London, 
Paris,  and  New  York,  steadied  his  easel  in  the  long  grass. 
With  an  attentive  eye  fixed  severely  ahead  of  him  upon  a 
stretch  of  road, — his  chosen  position  commanded  a  view  of 
the  inn,  the  railway  station,  and  the  castle  above  it,  the 
main  road,  and  the  cross-roads  at  the  corner, — he  pro- 
ceeded to  brush  in  a  picture  which  for  impressionistic  real- 
ism was  unique. 

Happily,  there  were  no  severer  critics  about  him  than  a 
carter  with  his  yoke  of  oxen,  and  a  dog  pursuing  his  zig- 
zag chase  after  the  butterflies.  These  were  either  too 
ignorant  or  too  indifferent  to  cast  on  the  stranger  more 
than  a  shifting  glance  as  they  passed. 

The  second  individual's  peregrinations  it  would  have 
been  more  difficult  to  explain  had  one  set  out  with  that 
acknowledged  purpose.  Whereas  the  artist,  serenely  con- 
tented, whistled  now  and  then  gayly,  stopped  his  work  at 
intervals  to  throw  himself  down  on  the  side  of  the  road  for 
a  smoke,  wandered  idly  towards  the  dashing  river,  and 
sometimes  fashioned  a  rod  of  a  drooping  willow  bough 

79 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

which  he  tore  unhesitatingly  from  the  mother  stem  for  his 
own  piscatorial  delectation,  the  elder  man,  a  rough-look- 
ing specimen  in  tweed  and  knickerbockers,  possessed  of  a 
pair  of  shrewd,  humorous  eyes,  a  long  upper  lip,  rough 
hands,  and  a  lined,  tanned  skin,  leathery  and  sunburned, 
which  told  its  own  story  of  wind  and  weather  ignored, 
darted  about  like  a  ground-sparrow,  hither  and  thither, 
tirelessly.  Squatting,  kneeling  with  his  face  close  to  the 
ground,  lying  flat  in  the  shadow  of  the  forest  many  yards 
off,  punching,  pummelling  the  ground  with  his  fists,  and 
then  rising  to  walk  leisurely  with  measured  tread  across 
from  the  point  in  the  road  towards  a  clump  of  woods  out 
of  which  some  oaks,  in  stately  fashion,  lifted  their  feathery 
tops  towards  nature's  roofing,  the  odd  being  seemed  im- 
bued with  the  demon  of  unrest. 

There  was  a  long,  low  line  about  half  a  mile  from  the 
cross-roads  corner,  wavering,  uncertain,  blood-red  in  color. 
Like  the  knife-blade  crest  of  a  tossing  sea  it  rose  and  fell 
at  intervals  under  the  light  breeze  blowing.  From  a 
distance  this  line  resembled  a  streak  of  life  cutting  its  in- 
evitable way  through  nature,  uneven,  listless  a  trifle,  but 
clear. 

Nearer  to,  the  crimson  line  disclosed  itself,  a  double  row 
of  wild,  red  poppies  with  black  centres. 

It  marked  the  frontier  between  France  and  Germany. 

It  seemed  an  emblem  of  past  warfare  ;  a  gory  memory 
which  had  left  a  scar  which  throbbed  and  multiplied. 

The  elder  man  followed  along  its  uneven  length  for  a 
mile.  Then,  with  a  puzzled  expression,  he  returned  to 
the  point  he  started  from  at  the  cross-roads  and  made  his 
round  again.  From  the  tree  at  the  corner  of  the  road 
which  stood  sentinel  over  a  gravel  path  distinct  and  well- 
marked  in  its  frame  of  living  green,  up  the  little  incline  to 
the  left,  over  across  a  gully  which  ran  out  of  sight,  swallowed 

80 


THE   FRONTIER 

up  in  the  forest,  around  back  of  a  slight  elevation  and  again 
to  the  tree,  coming  this  time  from  the  right  instead  of  the 
left  with  measured  tread.  Like  a  tragedian,  repeating  his 
lines  while  stringing  his  gestures  onto  his  periods,  he  kept 
his  lips  moving. 

At  intervals  he  called  something  across  from  where 
he  stood  to  the  artist,  who  immediately, — it  was  aston- 
ishing to  see  with  what  alacrity  the  idle  young  fellow 
accepted  any  interruption,  no  matter  how  intently  he  ap- 
peared bent  upon  his  own  amusement, — at  his  com- 
panion's low,  clear,  concise  words,  whipped  a  small  note- 
book from  his  pocket  and  jotted  down  some  numbers 
furtively. 

The  second  day,  after  slinging  his  leather  sack  off  his 
back,  unpacking  it  deftly,  and  disposing  his  artist  parapher- 
nalia conveniently,  he  withdrew  from  the  bottom  of  it  a 
clumsy  instrument  with  a  wooden  handle  and  two  heavy 
pieces  of  iron  crossed  at  the  end. 

This  he  gave  to  his  companion  silently. 

That  personage  took  a  firm  grip  of  it  and  placed  it  against 
his  shoulder,  after  having  cast  a  glance  behind  him  and 
another  towards  the  little  village  nestling  under  the  shadow 
of  the  castle  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  back  of  the  inn. 

He  then  made  off  with  it,  walking  rapidly. 

But  no  sooner  was  he  within  range  of  a  scrubby-looking 
brushwood,  which  edged  the  corner  of  the  roadside,  than 
he  drew  a  long  string  from  his  pocket  and  some  pegs, 
which  he  whittled  sharp  at  one  end  with  his  knife. 
Fastening  the  string  into  the  earth  with  one  of  the  pegs, 
he  began  deliberately  pacing  off  distances  with  his  feet. 

The  artist  was  restless. 

He  stood,  with  both  hands  in  his  pockets,  casting  doubt- 
ing looks  at  the  sky,  which  was  no  longer  gray  but  thick, 
dun-colored. 

6  8l 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

The  inn,  under  the  thickening  clouds,  made  a  black  dot 
against  a  murky  background.  There  was  a  thin  line  of 
smoke  far  off  towards  the  horizon,  which  bespoke  the 
passing  of  a  locomotive  to,  or  from,  the  great  centres  of 
the  earth. 

Carembourg,  in  the  Wallindorf  valley,  is  but  eight  hours 
from  Paris. 

Conway's  thoughts  were  not  with  the  sturdy  figure  in 
the  underbrush  to-day,  but  rather  on  the  crowded  boule- 
vards with  their  interminable  hum,  in  his  mother's  entresol 
on  the  Avenue  d'  lena,  or  even  at  the  United  States  Em- 
bassy. 

' '  What  were  they  all  doing  ?' '  he  wondered. 

His  mother  at  this  hour — he  drew  his  watch  from  his  vest- 
pocket  :  it  was  half-past  four — was  at  the  Grand  Prix.  He 
could  see  the  sloping  pelouse  dotted  with  bright-hued 
toilets  ;  hundreds  on  the  Grand  Stand.  He  pictured  men- 
tally the  Champs- Elyse"es  with  its  multitude  of  spectators 
gradually  thickening  and  spreading ;  the  long  rows  of 
horsechestnut-trees  like  giant  bridal  bouquets  shading  the 
holiday  costumes  of  the  women  and  the  more  sombre  ac- 
coutrements of  the  men.  Later  would  come  that  hetero- 
geneous scrabble  towards  home,  the  return  from  the  races, 
which  exemplifies  more  thoroughly  than  anything  the  strug- 
gle for  life,  or  supremacy,  or  both. 

'Twas  the  night,  too,  of  the  Duchesse's  ball, — the  fete 
of  the  season. 

All  Paris  would  be  there.  Paris  of  the  Faubourg  ;  Paris 
of  the  green-room.  Political  Paris  ;  sporting  Paris.  The 
vast  salons  would  be  thrown  open,  as  they  invariably  were 
once  a  year,  for  the  throng  which,  in  mask  and  domino, 
would  come  there,  to  dance  and  frolic  until  dawn. 

It  was  odd  what  he  had  come  upon  inadvertently  in  re- 
gard to  that  ball ;  he  who  was  so  utterly  indifferent  to  the 

82 


THE   FRONTIER 

inner  machinations  of  the  set  which  so  large  a  proportion 
of  the  world  seeks  to  know,  the  set  with  which  he  had  been 
conversant  all  his  life.  He  knew  it  through  and  through,  he 
thought,  wearily.  Society  was  the  same  thing  the  world 
over :  a  selfish,  self-seeking,  self-indulgent  thing.  The 
same  in  France,  Conway  had  discovered,  as  in  New  York. 
It  fought  with  all  its  weapons  for  place,  and,  once  arrived, 
proved  itself  in  so  many  instances  unworthy  of  the  promi- 
nence it  had  bled  to  attain.  Was  it  its  insatiability  that  made 
it  seem  so  insignificant  ? 

He  had  been  strolling  past  a  play-house  in  the  rue  Drouot 
only  yesterday,  an  hour  before  he  had  quitted  Paris. 

A  clown  stood  in  the  doorway.  Paris  knew  him  as  well 
as  his  gags  and  its  excesses.  Mariotti  had  set  the  jaded 
capital  by  the  ears  with  his  jokes,  which  were  two-edged 
with  cynicism  and  truth. 

His  hands  were  plunged  deep  into  his  pockets.  His 
countenance,  unwhitened  to-day  with  a  spurious  effigy  of 
purity  illuminate,  was  open,  and  bland  as  a  child's. 

Conway  stopped  to  chat  with  him. 

"And  the  ball,"  he  asked,  "the  Duchesse's  f£te?  In 
what  costume  do  you  go,  Mariotti  ?' ' 

He  put  the  question  more  as  a  poser  than  through  curi- 
osity. He  fully  expected  the  retort  might  embody  a  coun- 
ter-thrust out  of  the  mouth  of  this  original  babe  and  suck- 
ling who  reverenced  no  man. 

Mariotti  bestowed  a  queer  look  upon  his  fashionably  clad 
interlocutor  in  response. 

"  Monsieur  mocks  !  Mariotti  is  not  bidden  to  the  ball  of 
the  Duchesse, "  he  vouchsafed,  cautiously.  "But,  would 
monsieur  learn  a  secret,  I  can  tell  him  one  which  Paris  would 
give  a  fortune  to  know, — but  first,  does  monsieur  attend  the 
ball  ?"  It  was  evident  this  specimen  of  mixed  ancestry  had 
been  copiously  imbibing. 

83 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

' '  No.  I  shall  be  miles  away  by  that  hour.  I  leave  Paris 
to-night,"  Conway  returned. 

' '  A  la  bonne  heure  !  Know  then,  monsieur,  that  Mariotti, 
and  Mariotti  alone,  knows  of  the  costume  to  be  worn  by 
Lamballe!" 

' '  Lamballe  attends  the  ball  ?' '  cried  Conway,  astounded. 
He  had  imagined  his  adversary  of  graver  ways  and  means. 

' '  Always.  Monsieur  Lamballe  is  everywhere.  He  has 
nine  lives,  I  tell  him,— of  a  cat.  He  is  of  Mariotti' s  most 
faithful  clients."  The  simple  fellow  made  this  statement 
with  the  air  of  a  monkey  wooed  by  the  moon. 

"  What  will  be  his  costume?" 

' ' That  of  a  harlequin, ' '  whispered  Mariotti.  "It  is  to 
be  an  exact  copy  of  my  costume.  All  Paris  knows  it.  I 
created  it  for  this  past  season's  extravaganza.  I  take  it 
through  the  provinces  this  summer." 

"And?" 

"  How  monsieur  is  b£te  !  Cannot  monsieur  fancy  the 
intrigue?  Lamballe  goes  as  Mariotti.  Mariotti  stays  at 
home.  In  sum,  monsieur,  Lamballe  lays  aside,  for  the  time 
being,  his  identity  and  becomes  the  simple  clown. ' ' 

What  a  pity  he  could  not  have  remained  in  town,  to 
pierce  his  enemy's  disguise  through  this  disclosure  so  art- 
lessly betrayed  !  What  a  chance  lost !  What  a  revelation 
neglected  ! 

But  he  had  his  orders,  and  must  obey  them. 

The  train,  two  hours  later,  conveyed  him  and  Burgess  in 
the  direction  of  Carembourg,  Lamballe's  secret  unrevealed. 

Night  was  falling.  The  ball  was  coming  on.  He  could 
see  her  entering  with  the  diplomatic  party. 

Ah  !  En  masque  to-night,  my  lady  ?  And  the  costume, 
an  outspoken  freak.  The  costume  of  Folly,  in  cap  and  bells. 

She  could  grace  it. 

Mrs.  Conway  would  go  as  Marie  Antoinette. 

84 


THE   FRONTIER 

Stephen  ?  He  had  refused  to  be  present.  ' '  Masks  and 
dominoes  are  made  for  children,"  said  he. 

' '  But  she  would  be  there,  all  grace  and  charm  and  light- 
ness. The  cynosure  of  every  eye.  Her  winsome  face 
aglow  with  mischief.  Her  radiant  eyes  ?  What  eyes  they 
were  !  so  full,  so  frank,  so  sweet.  Heavy  lids.  High- 
arched  brows. 

And  she  was  Stephen's  wife. 

He  started  as  though  stabbed. 

The  clouds  were  blackening  overhead ;  thickening, 
lowering. 

The  day  was  to  be  short.     The  night  was  falling. 

Ay,  falling  !     Shutting  him  in. 

And  he  was  here  and  she  was  there. 

Stephen  ! 

Suddenly  he  saw  it  as  it  stood. 

Like  the  writing  on  the  wall,  the  thing  which  had  been 
gradually  forming  shape  and  substance  stood  in  all  its  un- 
utterably sweet  might  confessed. 

He  !  Conway  ! 

Why,  his  mother  knew  :  mentally  he  was  groping  halt- 
ingly, a  soul  lost  in  the  dark  creeping  on  its  hands  and 
knees  in  search  of  light.  God  Himself  could  vouch  that  he 
had  always  possessed  a  higher  sense  of  honor  than  most 
men,  through  some  subtle  forestalling,  a  recognition  of  an 
issue  to  come  before  it  was  made  evident  to  the  common 
herd.  To  be  sure,  he  had  suspected  himself,  at  odd,  brief 
moments,  of  an  apprehension,  an  unspeakable  dread  of  the 
inevitable.  But  he  had  sworn,  when  his  turn  came,  that  he 
would  fight,  struggle  against,  conquer. 

Coward  !    Knave  ! 

In  college  his  cool  courage  had  been  proverbial.  Even 
in  childhood  his  contempt  for  lesser  things  had  been  held 
almost  unparalleled  among  his  comrades. 

85 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

But  this  ! 

This  insidious,  wanton  thought.  This  desire !  This 
yearning  which  fastened  him  in  the  whole  fibre  of  his  be- 
ing. It  was  undoing  him  minute  by  minute,  hour  by  hour, 
heart-throb  by  heart-throb. 

What  moral  implement  had  he  which  would  fight  it 
back? 

None. 

He  knew,  as  he  stood  there,  stood  as  though  stricken  by 
the  lightning  which  was  already  darting  like  a  glistening 
viper  across  the  thundering  hosts  which  rallied  thicker  and 
blacker  above,  that  he  was  impotent  to  down  an  antagonist 
which  would  not  fight  back ;  a  fretting  beast  which,  endeavor 
as  he  would  to  drive  it  on  the  curb,  seemed  to  experience  a 
wicked  delight  in  releasing  curb  and  snaffle. 

He  was  fighting  slack. 

Oh,  for  action  !  The  clash  of  arms  ;  the  puff  of  battle- 
smoke  ;  a  foe  worthy  of  his  steel ;  a  metal  stronger  and  more 
forceful  than  his  own  metal.  Not  this  skulking,  shame- 
ful acknowledgment  which  must  be  concealed,  maltreated, 
denied. 

It  came  over  him  sickeningly  that  here  was  his  oppor- 
tunity at  last. 

Not  the  chance  he  had  sought ;  a  thing  with  healthy  blood 
in  it,  with  clean  muscles  and  sinews,  of  tissue  stronger  than 
his  own,  of  mettle  which  would  command  his  subservience, 
stir  from  his  strongest  depths  adequate  retaliation  ;  but  a 
poisoned  adder  which,  like  a  thief  in  the  night,  had  fas- 
tened its  fangs  in  his  peace,  and  was  slowly  undermining 
him  bit  by  bit. 

He  had  met  his  foe.  The  obstacle  which  was  to  bring 
out  his  capabilities.  He  had  wished  for  it ;  reached  out 
for  it. 

But  a  live,  open-hearted,  sturdy,  decent  thing. 

86 


ACTION 

Not  this.     Not  thus. 

He  must  put  her  from  him  because  he  loved  her. 

It  would  be  like  tearing  the  delicate  tendrils  of  a  flower 
from  off  his  soul  and  cursing  them  as  vipers. 

He  was  seated  upon  a  stone.  His  head  was  buried  in 
his  hands.  The  sky  grew  black,  thicker.  The  air  seemed 
breathed  up. 

He  felt  a  touch  on  his  shoulder. 

With  a  violent  start  he  looked  up. 


CHAPTER  XI 

ACTION 

BURGESS  stood  before  him  with  a  short  pipe  in  his  mouth, 
which  he  was  sucking  doggedly. 

"I've  found  'em,"  he  remarked,  laconically. 

1  '  Eh  ?'  '  returned  Conway. 

Burgess  continued,  unmindful  of  his  dazed  glance. 

"There's  four  stones,  sir.  Over  to  the  east  there  near 
the  river  ;  one  to  the  north,  a  bit  of  distance  ;  one  to  the 
south  well  up  over  them  hills,  and  the  other  -  '  '  Burgess 
stopped.  He  eyed  his  listener  deliberately. 

"The  other?" 

'  '  You'  re  settin'  on  it,  sir.  '  ' 

They  both  looked  down  as  the  younger  man  sprang  to 
his  feet. 

He  had  been  seated  on  a  square  stone  of  shot  granite, 
well  hammered  into  the  soil.  It  had  nursed  —  as  mother 
nature  so  often  nurses  unsolicited  her  children  —  some  wild 
flowers,  —  daisies,  clover,  buttercups.  The  little  weeds  had 
lifted  their  heads  unobtrusively.  Sentinels,  they  were  stand- 
ing guard  over  their  self-chosen  sponsor. 

8? 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

On  the  top  of  the  stone,  chiselled  clearly,  unadorned  with 
arabesque  or  workmanship,  was  the  letter  L. 

4 '  Do  you  see  that  line  of  smoke,  sir  ?' '  spoke  up  the 
elder  man,  after  a  pause.  He  was  pointing  towards  a 
funnel  of  smutty-looking  vapor  which  was  uncurling  its 
shadowy  length  slowly  against  the  blackening  sky,  near  an 
edge  of  the  woods,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off. 

"What,  then?" 

"It's  Lamballe's  men,  sir,  or  I'm  a  liar." 

' '  Have  they  seen  us  ?' ' 

Conway  had  thrown  down  his  brush  as  Burgess  spoke  to 
him. 

His  expression  was  alert ;  his  eye  calm  and  bright  as  he 
stooped,  with  a  heightened  color,  to  pick  it  out  of  the  dust 
into  which  it  had  fallen. 

"  There's  a  couple  uv  'em,  sir.  I  can't  tell  whether  or 
no  the  furriner  claims  the  privilege  of  livin'  on  his  own  land 
all  the  year  roun'  or  not."  Burgess  wore  a  humorous 
smile.  "I  take  it  they're  Lamballe's  men,  sir.  I  run  up 
against  one  uv  'em  not  a  quarter  of  an  hour  sence, — devil 
take  '  im.  I  sported  the  bland  smile*  of  the  suckin'  babe. 
I  had  seen  'im  comin'.  'Who's  there?'  says  I,  startin' 
back.  He  was  a  little  feller,  with  a  sharp  look  that  cut  like 
a  knife.  He  said  somethin'  under  his  breath,  sudden-like. 
Then  he  stopped  short.  He  made  off,  sir.  I  kep'  on  me 
way.  I  had  been  takin'  bearin's.  I  had  time,  luckily,  to 
whip  me  string  back  into  me  pocket.  All  at  once  another 
figger  sprung  out  o'  the  grass  at  me  feet,  in  green,  sir, 
velvet,  like  the  color  o'  the  ground.  '  Good-mornin','  says 
he,  in  English." 

' '  Did  you  answer  ?' ' 

' '  So  struck  was  I  with  the  attack,  an'  in  me  own  tongue, 
I  answered  before  I  knew  what  I  was  doin'. 

"  '  Good-mornin','  says  I. 

88 


ACTION 

"  '  A  fine  mornin','  says  he,  with  a  grin. 

' '  Then  I  remembered  it  was  late  afternoon.  I  think  he 
remembered  it  before  I  did. 

"  '  There  have  been  finer,'  says  I,  takin'  in  the  cut  uv  his 
jib  without  appeartn'  to  do  so.  He  was  measurin'  me  with 
the  benign  expression  of  a  mother  superior  contemplatin' 
the  mornin' s  milk. 

' '  '  On  your  travels,  my  good  man  ?'  asked  he,  with  a 
laugh. 

"  '  It's  a  matter  uv  some  miles,  sir,'  says  I  ;  at  which  he 
laughed  again.  Then  I  passed  on. ' ' 

' '  Was  he  old  or  young  ?' ' 

"MiddlinV 

"Short  or  tall?" 

"Tall, — very  tall.     About  your  height,  sir." 

' '  What  was  the  color  of  his  hair  ?' ' 

"Gray." 

' '  We'  re  in  for  it, ' '  remarked  Conway,  with  a  new 
light  in  his  eyes.  He  seemed  to  be  slowly  acquiring 
steel. 

"You  mean ?" 

"  I  think  it  was  Lamballe." 

' '  He  had  no  beard,  sir. ' ' 

' '  He  may  have  shaved  it  off. ' ' 

"He's  too  late,  sir."  The  statement  was  made  with 
triumphant  brevity. 

"You?" 

"  I  have  me  bearin's  neat  an'  sure.  I  know  me  ground 
as  well  as  the  weasel  his  nest.  I  can  fix  me  dimensions  on 
a  piece  o'  paper  with  half  a  day's  leeway  as  clear  an'  fresh 
as  paint. ' ' 

"  But  the  chalk  !  How  far  does  it  extend  ?  You  haven't 
determined  that  ?' ' 

' '  Leave  that  to  me,  sir.    What' s  the  night  fur  ?' ' 

89 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

The  aforesaid  conundrum  was  propounded  with  a  look  of 
cunning  which  was  consummate. 

Darkness  fell.  By  five-thirty  it  was  black  as  Erebus  ;  a 
soaking  night  with  frequent  gusts  of  wind,  which  swept 
across  the  helpless  valley  like  warring  hosts.  The  river 
roared,  tossed,  leaped,  like  a  pulse  in  its  last  fierce  flicker 
for  supremacy. 

The  little  inn  was  lit  up  as  soon  as  the  dark  declared 
itself.  Its  host,  a  cheery  individual,  his  wife,  a  pretty, 
rosy-cheeked  Alsatian,  wearing  the  butterfly  black  bow 
across  her  level  brow,  which  bespoke  her  unwilling  subjec- 
tion to  the  Teuton  invasion,  invited  his  guests  to  a  repast, 
the  succulence  of  which  was  undeniable. 

There  was  a  soup  first  a  la  bonne  femme,  which  for  deli- 
cacy of  flavoring  could  not  have  been  outdone  by  a  Joseph 
or  a  Paillard.  It  was  followed  by  a  fried  sole  dished  up 
with  a  sauce  which  melted  as  vapor  on  the  tongue,  while 
tickling,  like  the  odor  of  roses,  the  mental  palate.  After 
this,  potatoes  from  the  tiny  garden  at  the  back  en  papillotes, 
a  whiff  of  the  flower  in  their  flavor,  peas  sweet  as  sugar,  in 
absinthe-green  coats,  haricots  verts  with  the  strings  left  on 
them  Parisian-wise, — the  strings  which  tell  their  own  story 
of  taste, — and  a  chicken  a  la  Marengo  abloom  with  the 
roseate  hue  of  the  tomato,  and  snow-banked  with  rice. 
Topped  off  by  the  crowning  glory  of  the  country-side,  a 
pudding  stiffened  with  apple  meringue  and  vanilla,  with  a 
vin  du  pays  sauce,  and  gaieties  hot  from  the  oven,  the 
dinner  was  a  feast  for  the  gods. 

The  fruit  was  redolent  of  blossom  and  sunburn.  When 
three  kinds  of  cheese  had  been  administered — Brie,  Roque- 
fort, and  Gruyere — and  the  amber-tinted  coffee  served, 
Conway  and  his  surveyor  leaned  back  in  their  comfortable 
chairs — elbow-worn  in  their  wooden  arms — content. 

The  host  withdrew  discreetly.  None  knew  better  than 

90 


ACTION 

he  the  hour  to  let  digestion  woo  the  mellowing  faculties  of 
his  guests. 

Their  dining-hall  was  small  with  a  door  opening  onto 
the  road.  A  door  cut  in  the  right  wall  disclosed  a  bed- 
chamber which  Conway  occupied. 

The  temporarily  constructed  space  had  been  converted 
into  a  cozy  interior  for  the  benefit  of  itinerant  guests. 

The  silence  was  broken  abruptly  by  a  whistle  from  the 
locomotive,  which  sped  through  the  valley  like  a  messenger 
of  evil. 

"It's  the  down  train,"  remarked  Conway.  "  The  train 
for  Paris  is  due  in  thirty  minutes."  He  glanced  at  his 
watch.  It  was  quarter  of  six. 

He  yawned. 

"I'm  off,  sir." 

Conway  looked  up. 

Burgess  had  risen.  He  was  detaching  his  coat  from  a 
peg  where  it  had  hung  against  the  wall.  An  instant  later 
he  was  tugging  at  his  boots,  which  had  been  drying  by  the 
fire, — a  roaring  one  at  the  end  of  the  room.  The  warmth 
was  not  ungrateful,  owing  to  the  soaking  dampness  which 
the  storm  had  brought  in  its  breath. 

' '  What  ?' '  Conway  glanced  at  him  with  amused  eyes. 
The  fellow's  energy  was  incorrigible,  he  thought. 

"I'll  finish  what  I  have  to  do,  sir." 

1 '  Not  a  night  like  this,  surely  ?' ' 

"We've  no  time  to  lose."     The  retort  was  conclusive. 

The  dreaminess  faded  out  of  Conway 's  eyes  like  smoke 
from  a  tornado-swept  horizon.  Across  them  jetted  a  fork 
of  new  life.  Purpose,  that  daring  light. 

He  rose.  He  marched  across  the  room  and  steadily 
confronted  Burgess  just  as  he  was  turning  towards  the 
door. 

"  You  think  there's  danger?" 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

"Some." 

The  sententious  precision  of  the  reply  was  indubitable. 

"  Our  work  is  on  private  land,  you  mean?  Well,  what 
then?" 

It  was  the  cool,  unconvinced  epicureanism  of  the  land- 
owner who  has  too  enforced  his  rights. 

"We're  nothin'  more  nor  less  than  poachers,  sir,  in  the 
present  instance.  There's  game  preserves  in  them  parts  I 
purpose  burrowin'  in  to-night, — preserves  well  ticketed 
against  the  invader." 

1 '  What  of  it  ?' '  incredulously. 

"There's  a  law  in  France  that  can  imprison  a  male- 
factor three  months  fur  the  same." 

There  was  a  grim  conquest  of  local  technicalities  in 
Burgess's  statement  which  adequately  informed  individuals 
had  been  unwise  to  ignore. 

Conway's  face  brightened.  .The  light  which  had  been 
growing  in  his  eyes  set  them  aflame, — an  after-calculation's 
conflagration  suddenly  put  upon  a  forethought's  track. 
Fire  to  tow. 

"Let  me  go." 

The  words  burst  forth  unguided,  almost  as  if  un- 
thought.  They  argued  an  acknowledged  force  at  their 
rear  which  impelled  them. 

"You  stay  here,  sir."  The  command  was  brief.  Into 
Burgess's  stolid  gaze  had  stolen  a  dogged  contradiction. 

But  the  cool,  smooth  voice,  the  surveyor  knew,  had  gone 
out  forever  with  some  other  ingredients  which,  up  to  now, 
had  formed  the  integral  portion  of  Mrs.  Livingstone  Con- 
way's  only  son.  A  new  voice  was  in  its  place, — an  organ 
with  a  strident  ring  in  it.  Real  earnest. 

"I'm  master  here,  man.  Come.  Hand  over  those 
tools.  We'll  change  places." 

"Don't  be  unwary,  sir,"  urged  Burgess.     His  speech 

92 


ACTION 

was  not  indicative  of  disrespect.     It  held  the  whine  of  the 
cur  set  to  watch, — in  the  watching  betrayed. 

' '  Hand  over  the  tools, ' '  sternly.  ' '  I  have  been  idle  too 
long." 

The  kit  was  handed  over  without  a  word. 

' '  Now  give  me  your  instructions, ' '  with  determination. 

Burgess  measured  the  slender  figure  before  him  reluc- 
tantly. 

' '  If  you  will  do  it,  sir.  You  always  were  a  young  divil  fur 
gettin'  your  own  way.  Be  cautious  an'  the  game  is  ours." 

"Goon." 

"There's  a  gravelly  corner  over  near  the  poppy-field,  sir, 
where  I  stuck  in  one  o'  me  pegs  to-day.  If  it's  still  there 
all  will  be  easy  sailin'  enuff.  If  the  wind  an'  the  rain  has 
swept  it  away  your  work' 11  cum  harder.  It's  the  place 
thet  decides  whether  or  not  the  chalk  extends  into  Ger- 
many. Pull  out  the  peg,  if  it's  there,  and  dig  down 
with  this  knife  with  all  yer  might.  If  the  knife  melts  in, 
you're  on  the  wrong  spot.  If  it's  gravel,  and  at  first  only 
lets  you  through,  after  some  sharp  digging,  onto  a  sub- 
stance as  brittle  as  flint,  you've  struck  the  chalk.  If  the 
peg  is  not  there,  you  must  feel  around  on  your  hands  and 
knees  until  you  find  the  gravelly  spot  I  speak  of.  You 
see  the  importance  of  makin'  sure  of  this  point,  sir  ?' ' 

' '  Yes, ' '  answered  Conway. 

He  was  pulling  on  his  boots  now,  a  thick  pair  he  dragged 
hastily  from  his  box  in  the  adjoining  room.  He  drew  on 
his  coat.  He  muffled  his  throat  up  in  a  scarf  which  came 
to  his  eyes,  drew  a  soft  hat  well  over  his  forehead,  and 
slung  the  wallet,  which  contained  a  pickaxe,  a  pipe,  some 
tobacco,  a  piece  of  string,  and  an  old  bone  case-knife 
over  his  shoulder. 

' '  Yer  own  mother  wouldn'  t  know  ye,  sir, ' '  exclaimed 
Burgess,  admiringly. 

93 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

As  he  neared  the  doorway  Conway  looked  back. 

' '  Pity  we  aren'  t  sure  whether  or  no  Lamballe  is  in 
Paris,"  he  said,  lightly.  "'Twould  save  us  a  heap  of 
manoeuvring.  Daylight  is  always  daylight.  Oh,  I  say, 
Burgess," — he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  latch  and  glanced 
back  across  the  glowing  lamp-lit  room, — "if,  by  any 
"chance,  I  have  not  returned  before  morning,  there's  a  tele- 
graph blank  there,"  pointing  towards  his  valise. 

"You'll  be  back,  sir,"  in  a  gruff  voice,  phlegmatically. 

' '  Good-night,  Burgess. ' ' 

1 '  Good-night,  sir. ' ' 

There  came  a  gust  of  wind  which  almost  swept  Conway 
off  his  feet.  He  threw  the  door  wide  open  and  looked  out. 

The  valley,  a  surging,  tossing  black  wave,  throbbing 
with  unseen  things,  a  pulse  of  the  night  beating  out  its 
life  against  a  formidable  enemy,  screeched  and  rumbled, 
roared  and  howled,  in  its  contest  with  the  rain  and  wind. 

A  sheet  of  rain  dashed  into  Burgess's  face,  standing  far 
back  from  the  door,  as  he  did,  impotent,  his  stifled  will 
inert.  He  had  been  accustomed  to  obey  all  his  life.  The 
thought  never  occurred  to  him  to  rebel  at  the  inactivity 
thrust  so  imperiously  upon  him. 

The  intrepid  figure  dashed  forth  into  the  warring  dark. 

It  vanished. 

Burgess  stepped  forward.     He  closed  the  door. 

With  a  yawn  he  seated  himself  and  drew  off  his  boots. 
His  carpet  slippers  were  donned  again  ;  the  coat  doffed, 
the  dilapidated  slouch  hat  hung  on  the  wall.  He  walked 
towards  the  stone  fireplace  and  threw  a  stick  of  wood  into 
its  smouldering  depths.  ' '  As  well  to  keep  the  fire  goin' . 
It  will  dry  Mr.  Jack  on  his  return,"  he  thought. 

The  inn  had  been  a  stable  once.  The  fireplace,  an  in- 
stitution of  some  troops  in  time  of  war.  Burgess  seated 
himself  after  a  careless  glance  back  over  his  shoulder. 

94 


ACTION 

Once,  when  the  window  rattled  as  if  it  would  smash  to 
pieces,  he  rose,  walked  forward  awkwardly,  as  though  the 
eyes  of  his  young  master  were  upon  him,  and  peered  forth. 
With  a  shrug,  finally,  he  returned  to  his  chair  and  stretched 
himself,  his  head  thrown  back,  to  sleep. 

A  piece  of  burning  wood  fell  onto  his  coarse  sock  ; 
with  an  ' '  ouch  !' '  he  kicked  it  off. 

He  heard  the  innkeeper  call  his  dogs  to  order  ;  they 
were  howling  like  a  pack  of  fiends,  lending  their  chorus  of 
yells  gratuitously  to  the  increasing  fury  of  the  storm,  which 
seemed  to  be  whipping  the  seething  valley  into  a  tidal 
wave  of  revolt. 

Mine  host  called  cheerily  from  above  to  know  if  all  was 
well  before  retiring.  It  was  a  question  mouthed  in  Alsa- 
tian. Burgess  guessed  its  meaning  and  answered,  ' '  Aye, 
aye, ' '  wondering,  while  he  did  so,  if  Conway  would  report 
before  the  inmates  of  the  little  inn  were  wrapped  in  sleep. 

His  intention  was  to  remain  awake.  He  reflected  un- 
easily that  perhaps  he  had  not  explained  the  ground — 
where  he  had  been  about  to  pursue  his  operations — as 
clearly  as  he  might :  that  Conway,  unversed  as  a  man 
of  his  inexperience  must  necessarily  be  at  taking  note  of 
landmarks  to  aid  him  in  discovering  his  way,  might  wander 
from  his  path  and  get  lost  in  the  forest. 

But  as  the  fire  blazed  up  and  the  roar  of  the  storm 
soothed  the  surveyor's  relaxing  senses,  he  recollected  com- 
fortably that  the  roads  were  wide  and  well  defined,  that, 
albeit  there  was  but  the  one  hamlet  between  the  hill  and 
the  castle, — the  hamlet  which  in  feudal  times  was  the  back 
door  of  the  castle's  need, — there  was  still  that  hut  with 
provender  within,  a  man,  and  perhaps  a  beast.  Even  the 
enemy  would  be  preferable  to  total  annihilation. 

What  a  storm  !  A  perfect  hurricane.  The  inn  rocked 
like  a  helpless  atom,  a  victim  of  its  fury,  which  was  surely 

95 


A  NEW  RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

stupendous.  He  seemed  to  be  in  motion.  A  song  he  had 
heard  sung  by  a  sailor,  while  crossing,  at  Markoe's  order, 
came  to  him, — "  Rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the  deep." 

The  sun  was  shining  across  his  face. 

He  sat  up.  Then,  as  his  eyes  sleepily  and  fretfully 
blinked,  his  fingers  sought  his  watch-pocket  and  extricated 
his  big  silver  watch. 

Lazily  he  lifted  it  towards  his  eyes.    He  started  violently. 

It  was  eight  A.  M. 

He  rose.  He  staggered  towards  the  window,  rubbing 
his  swollen  eyelids. 

The  valley  was  dimpling  and  glistening  in  a  glowing 
flood  of  radiant  sunshine.  The  earth  seemed  crowing 
with  rapture  over  her  ravishing  new  birth,  rain-washed, 
wind-clean. 

Suddenly  he  gave  vent  to  an  ejaculation. 

Conway  must  have  returned,  and  quietly  stepped  across 
the  intervening  space  between  the  entrance-way  and  his 
bedchamber,  fearful  of  awakening  him. 

He  turned  and  looked  across  into  the  room  beyond 
through  the  wide-swung  door. 

The  bed  had  been  unslept  in. 

The  trunk,  its  tossed  contents  revealing  the  hasty  un- 
packing of  the  impatient  seeker,  yawned  as  Conway  had 
left  it  the  night  before.  Burgess  sprang  across  the  floor 
and  stolidly  contemplated  what  he  saw  there. 

The  room  was  empty. 

It  was  evident  Conway  had  not  returned. 


96 


THE  RIFT  WITHIN  THE  LUTE 
CHAPTER  XII 

THE  RIFT  WITHIN  THE    LUTE 

' '  AND  I  cannot  prevail  upon  you  to  accompany  me, 
Stephen?" 

There  was  no  response. 

Mrs.  Markoe  stood  on  the  threshold  of  her  husband's 
study. 

The  Ambassador  was  intently  consuming  the  contents  of 
a  home  newspaper.  The  postman  had  delivered  a  batch  of 
them  some  hours  before.  This  was  the  first  moment, 
seized  with  avidity,  which  had  been  his  to  utilize  in  their 
perusal. 

' '  Stephen  !' '  in  faint  remonstrance. 

The  Ambassador  laid  his  paper  down  on  his  knee  with  a 
visible  effort  to  disengage  his  attention  from  its  contents. 
He  removed  his  glasses  from  the  bridge  of  his  nose  with 
the  air  of  a  person  who  had  been  disturbed  by  some  foreign 
element,  the  nature  of  which  he  suspected,  but  could  not 
precisely  determine.  This  unwarrantable  intrusion  might 
be  repeated  unless  met  with  and  argued  against. 

' '  Stephen  !' '  with  exasperation. 

"Well?"  phlegmatically. 

' '  Why  won' t  you  go  ?' ' 

The  Ambassador  turned  in  his  chair.  It  was  a  desk- 
chair  :  it  revolved.  As  he  twisted  the  unbidden  thought 
flitted  across  his  wife's  mind  that  if  determinations  were 
built  on  pivots  life  would  be  possessed  of  infinitely  more 
variety.  Then  came  the  after- thought.  "  It's  a  poor  rule 
that  can' t  work  both  ways, ' '  she  reflected. 

Before  her  husband's  gaze — an  absent,  newspaper- 
7  97 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

haunted  gaze — fixed  itself  upon  Mrs.  Markoe  the  thought 
had  been  dismissed. 

It  was  eleven  P.M.  It  was  the  loth  of  June,  the  evening 
of  the  Grand  Prix  :  the  night  of  the  Duchesse  de  Launoy's 
ball. 

That  the  Ambassadress  was  attired  in  a  fascinating  ne'g- 
lige1,  all  soft  ruchings  and  billowy  lace,  her  hair  loosened, — 
a  mass  of  somewhat  dishevelled  waves  and  curls,  her  cheeks 
like  crumpled  rose  leaves  ;  she  had  been  asleep,  she  was  on 
her  way  to  her  room  to  adjust  her  war-paint, — was  a  detail 
unremarked  by  the  Ambassador. 

He  had  been  disturbed.  He  resented  it.  He  looked  a 
protest.  His  manner  expressed,  "  Haven't  I  told  you  once 
for  all  I  wouldn'  t  go  ?  Why  recommence  the  argument  ?' ' 
He  was  too  well-bred  to  voice  his  grievance.  He  was  not  a 
boor  ;  far  from  it.  He  was  a  prominent  citizen  interrupted 
in  the  occupation  which  he  enjoyed.  The  diurnal  worm 
that  turns  is  the  newspaper-charged  masculine  whose  in- 
clination has  been  denied  him. 

' '  Ah,  Kate, ' '  said  the  Ambassador,  colorlessly.  He  was 
swinging  his  glasses  about  in  circles,  dangerously.  The 
string  made  them  jump,  elastically,  in  the  air.  Was  the 
string  whipping  out  its  owner's  irritation  thus? 

"Yes — 'Kate,'  "  she  repeated,  a  little  mockingly, — the 
drift  was  cynical,  the  tone  was  not, — "just — '  Kate.'  ' 

She  stepped  across  the  threshold.  She  slowly  moved 
towards  him. 

The  room  was  dim,  delightfully  lit  with  lamps. 

As  she  came  forward  the  shadows  lengthened  behind  her. 
A  warm  ray  shone  from  under  a  rose-colored  lamp-shade 
onto  her  slippers.  It  crept  up  till  it  reached  her  knees.  Still 
she  moved  forward.  It  attacked  her  shoulders,  then  lin- 
gered on  her  white  throat,  and  then  her  chin,  her  lips,  her 
eyes,  her  hair. 

98 


THE  RIFT  WITHIN  THE  LUTE 

She  stood  directly  under  the  Ambassador's  absent  gaze 
with  two  cold  hands  clasped  behind  her. 

She  frowned  deliciously.     She  spoke, — 

' '  Oh,  thou  noble  and  distinguished  representative  of 
home  government,"  said  she,  with  an  inflection  of  faintest 
irony  in  her  manifestly  guarded  tone, — her  voice  was  flute- 
like,  her  manner  a  little  uncertain, — "  whence  this  indiffer- 
ence to  society  ?' ' 

' '  Be  off,  butterfly, ' '  returned  the  Ambassador.  ' '  Haven' t 
we  been  doing  it  ad  nauseam  for  a  matter  of  eight  weeks  ? 
My  record  is  made.  I  am  as  tired  of  twiddle-twaddle, 
gossip,  fads,  and  tal-lals  as  a  reprobate  on  sufferance.  Go 
your  way.  Leave  me  mine. ' ' 

But  she  held  her  ground.  Her  chin  crept  up  a  little  as 
her  under  lip  fell  in,  like  a  grieved  child's.  It  was  evident 
the  persiflage  of  her  premonitory  symptom  was  a  faithful 
precursor  of  a  graver  attack.  ' '  Oh,  astute  individual  ! 
society  demands  of  you  but  your  presence,  but  your  most 
egregious  boredom.  Yours  is  not  to  speak,  nor  to  deny,  nor 
to  expound.  Yours  is  to  be.  Your  presence  to-night  will 
not  only  swell  the  list  of  the  Duchesse's  distinguished  guests 
in  to-morrow's  newspapers  ;  it  will  prove  the  United  States 
has  mastered  the  Faubourg.  Come."  She  extended  both 
hands.  There  was  a  witching,  half-startled  look  in  her  eyes. 

' '  Your  reasoning  is  faulty, ' '  shortly.  The  Ambassador' s 
hand  was  reaching  out  for  the  newspaper  again.  Mrs. 
Markoe  saw  this  with  a  lightning  glance  and  a  swelling 
heart;  she  drew  a  short  breath.  "Masked,  all  men  are 
only  men.  My  presence  is  not  of  official  importance  to- 
night. To-morrow,  perhaps,  at  that  premiere  of  Lam- 
balle's."  The  fiat  had  gone  forth. 

He  was  still  grasping  out  for  the  papers,  turning  his 
shoulder  towards  her  to  do  so.  But  she  had  pushed  them 
out  of  reach  purposely. 

99 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

"Give  me  those  papers,  will  you?"  he  said.  He  was 
tired  of  the  subject  already. 

They  were  at  her  elbow.  She  silently  lifted  them,  with  a 
faintly  contemptuous  expression,  between  her  finger  and 
thumb  ;  gingerly,  as  though  the  margins  were  primed  with 
microbes.  She  laid  them  lightly  in  his  hand.  She  drew 
back.  Her  lips  were  quivering  very  slightly  ;  she  bit 
them  in. 

' '  One  moment, ' '  said  a  resigned  voice. 

It  came  from  Mrs.  Markoe.  Her  face  was  wan.  Her 
eyes  were  as  inscrutable  as  the  Ambassador's  own.  Her 
fists  were  clinched  in  among  the  folds  of  her  gown. 

She  had  retreated  to  the  threshold.  ' '  I  beg  your  par- 
don," she  interpolated,  in  response  to  her  husband's  sur- 
prised look.  "What  could  there  be" — he  was,  possibly, 
thinking — "more  interesting  than  the  news  he  had  been 
perusing?" 

" The  coiffeur, "  said  she.  "He's  waiting,  you  know. 
I  will  show  myself  to  you  before  I  go — alone.  But,  has  it 
occurred  to  you,  what  will  the  colony  say  if  it  knows  I  go 
alone?" 

' '  You'  11  be  masked,  won' t  you  ?' '  returned  the  Ambas- 
sador, cheerfully,  in  a  relieved  tone  ;  ' '  and  devilish  hot  in 
the  bargain, ' '  he  added. 

The  figure  on  the  threshold  vanished. 

The  Ambassador  appeared  unaware  he  was  alone.  He 
read  on.  The  footman  entered  and  laid  some  letters  at  his 
elbow.  He  retired  on  tiptoe.  The  clock  on  the  mantel- 
piece, a  clock  with  a  blue  enamelled  face,  gold  hands,  and 
a  double  frame  of  rhine  stones,  the  whole  surmounted  by 
a  winged  Mercury,  tolled  the  half-hour,  then  the  three- 
quarters,  then  the  hour,  then  the  quarter,  then  the  half- 
hour. 

The  Ambassador  perused    the  sheet    before    him    de- 


THE   RIFT  WITHIN  THE  LUTE 

lightedly.  Once  he  stopped,  lifted  his  head,  and  listened 
intently.  A  carriage  rolled  into  the  courtyard  below. 

The  sound  it  made  was  like  the  echo  of  distant  thunder. 
He  remembered  his  wife  was  going  out.  He  frowned 
slightly.  He  rose  and  walked  towards  the  window.  He 
glanced  at  the  clock.  ' '  These  French  things  begin  late, ' ' 
he  said,  aloud.  Then  he  opened  another  paper,  and  was 
soon  buried  in  its  contents.  The  hum  of  the  city  grew 
thinner,  fainter.  Finally  it  seemed  to  die  out  altogether, 
with  the  exception  of  a  fiacre  which  rattled  by  madly,  the 
miserable  steed  galloping  under  the  cruel  lash  of  the  Paris 
Jehu's  notorious  overbearance. 

All  at  once  Markoe  became  aware  of  a  vivid  light  which 
made  the  black  letters  on  the  white  sheet  beneath  his  in- 
tent eyes  dance.  It  roused  him  to  a  realization  that  some- 
thing was  happening. 

He  stirred.     Removing  his  glasses,  he  looked  up. 

A  footman  had  entered  at  Mrs.  Markoe' s  instigation. 
The  coolly  darkened  room,  with  its  discreetly  shaded  lamps, 
had  altered  into  a  garishly  illuminated  place  with  every 
corner  and  console  revealed.  Electricity  had  done  its 
work. 

The  Ambassador  blinked.  Then  his  eyes  encompassed 
a  masked  feminine  figure  which  stood  in  the  doorway  in  a 
costume  as  paradoxical  as  a  woman' s  heart. 

On  the  pretty,  tossed,  reddish  curls  was  a  tricolored  cap 
of  pink  and  orange  and  green,  made  of  odd  little  trian- 
gles of  silk  with  loose  corner  ends,  which  bobbed  saucily  at 
the  on-looker  from  unexpected  places.  Each  corner  was 
finished  off  with  a  rhine  stone,  in  emulation  of  a  dew-drop. 
In  the  shell-like  ears  were  two  huge  diamonds.  The  skirts 
were  short,  disclosing  two  tiny  feet  incased  in  green  satin 
slippers  with  pink  French  love-knots  embroidered  across 
the  instep,  the  whole  surmounted  by  two  enormous  oblong 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

paste  buckles.  The  creamy,  dimpled  neck  and  arms  were 
unadorned.  As  if  to  make  up  for  this  deficiency — which 
betrayed  a  coquetry  that  was  absolute — the  corsage  was 
literally  encrusted  with  magnificent  gems  of  every  denomi- 
nation,— emeralds,  rubies,  sapphires,  and  diamonds.  The 
small  fingers  were  covered  with  gems.  They  could  be  dis- 
cerned sparkling  under  the  silk  mits  which  encased  the  hands. 

The  mask,  a  perforated  golden  one,  was  studded  with 
pearls,  bordered  by  a  flounce  of  priceless  lace  which  com- 
pletely covered  the  chin.  The  charm  and  grace,  the  air  of 
delighted  expectancy,  the  bird-like  poise,  and  distinction  of 
the  wearer's  carriage  was  indescribable. 

Across  the  front  of  the  three-cornered  cap  was  marked  in 
gilded  letters  one  word,  Folly. 

The  Ambassador  scrutinized  the  figure  long  and  steadily. 
His  expression  was  serene.  What  he  thought  was,  'as 
usual,  to  be  imagined.  Apparently  he  had  no  opinion 
whatsoever  upon  the  subject. 

He  made  a  sign  to  his  footman  with  his  hand. 

"  You  may  await  Mrs.  Markoe  down-stairs  for  a  few  mo- 
ments. I  will  conduct  her  to  the  carriage,"  he  said,  suc- 
cinctly. 

The  footman  withdrew. 

Neither  of  the  two  spoke  for  some  moments. 

"Take  off  your  mask,"  suggested  the  Ambassador, 
coldly. 

Without  a  word  she  obeyed. 

The  creamy  arms,  their  contour  dented  in  unexpected 
places  under  the  soft  flesh,  indentures  which  were  not  dim- 
ples but  which  looked  as  if  they  wished  to  be,  were  lifted. 
A  clasp  under  the  coiffure  was  unfastened.  She  stood  with 
her  mask  in  her  hand. 

Her  face  was  flushed,  mutinous,  petulant,  a  little  hard. 
Her  eyes'  expression  was  dubious. 


THE  RIFT  WITHIN  THE  LUTE 

As  though  unable  to  resist  longer  the  development  which 
might  be  brewing,  she  asked,  petulantly,  ' '  How  do  you 
think  I  look?" 

The  Ambassador  cleared  his  throat.  ' '  The  left  shoulder- 
strap,"  he  suggested  distantly, — not  at  all  as  though  he  felt 
any  personal  interest  in  the  matter, — ' '  isn't  it  a  little  too  far 
off  the  shoulder  ?' ' 

"That's  the  fashion,"  she  said.  "Intentional,  you 
know,"  with  an  explanatory  gesture.  "Is  my  costume 
becoming,  do  you  think?" 

' '  Very, ' '  returned  the  Ambassador,  with  about  the  same 
amount  of  enthusiasm  in  his  tone  he  might  have  used  in  re- 
questing a  servant  to  close  the  door. 

' '  Madeleine  goes  as  Marie  Antoinette, ' '  she  began  again, 
feverishly,  hurriedly,  as  though  to  put  behind  her  at  once 
his  visible  lack  of  interest.  She  was  bitterly  aware  of  it. 
"Her  costume  ?  1 1'  s  perfect. ' ' 

"  A  beautiful  woman,  Mrs.  Con  way,"  acquiesced  the  Am- 
bassador perfunctorily.  He  looked  at  his  watch.  ' '  When 
do  you  meet  her?" 

' '  At  two  thirty, ' '  she  returned,  ' '  on  the  staircase  ;  sec- 
ond landing." 

' '  Hadn'  t  you  better  hurry  a  little  ?' '  inquired  Markoe, 
with  the  first  show  of  interest  he  had  evinced. 

She  snatched  up  her  mask. 

' '  Let  me  fasten  it  for  you  ?' '  he  said. 

She  bent  her  head,  after  confiding  the  mask  to  his  big 
hand,  reluctantly. 

He  passed  back  of  her.  He  held  the  mask,  a  frivolous 
thing  enough,  which,  for  a  few  hours,  was  to  conceal  Mrs. 
Markoe' s  lovely  face,  and  give  some  moments  of  relaxa- 
tion from  its  accustomed  expression  of  polite  indifference 
demanded  of  her  by  the  public.  He  lifted  the  soft  curls. 

Because  of  this  the  nape  of  her  soft  neck  was  disclosed, 

103 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

helpless,  bared  to  his  scrutiny,  highly  delectable  ;  essen- 
tially kissable. 

His  fingers  hesitated  a  moment.  Long  enough  for  her 
to  cry  out,  "  Won't  you  hurry,  please?" 

There  was  a  click.  The  charming  countenance  was 
hidden.  The  curls  fell  into  place.  The  Ambassador 
stepped  back  into  his  proper  niche  of  Ambassador. 

But  if  she  had  looked  around,  if  she  had  moved  a  hair's 
breadth  to  right  or  left,  if  she  had  swerved  in  her  mood,  or 
breathed  up  instead  of  down,  she  would  have  mastered  the 
man. 

Into  the  inscrutable  eyes  had  come  a  fierce,  unguarded 
light.  The  blue  steel  went  out.  The  red  fire  burned  in. 
The  veins  in  the  hand  which  fastened  the  tiny  clasp 
throbbed  visibly.  The  strangled  pulse  of  the  human 
being,  who  had  chosen  out  of  a  great  love  to  make  this 
woman  his  wife,  woke,  plead,  and  was  conquered. 

The  Ambassador  had  learned  his  lesson.  He  knew  it 
body  and  soul. 

"Stephen,"  said  a  very  quiet  voice,  unexpectedly,  as  the 
powerful  hands  folded  her  cloak  about  her  and  dropped 
once  more  to  Markoe's  sides,  "I  often  wonder  why  you 
married  me." 

About  the  Ambassador's  lips  crept  a  curiously  grim  line. 
It  died  out. 

"Why,  indeed?"  he  answered,  being  a  man  of  few 
words. 

1 '  Because, ' '  went  on  the  flute-like  voice  persistently, 
the  inflection  was  essentially  weary,  ' '  there  are  times  when 
it  seems  to  me  you  are  almost  too  accustomed  to  me. ' ' 

' '  I  am  never  that, ' '  he  answered,  this  time  forcibly. 

Still  she  hesitated.  The  hour  was  very  late.  She 
knew  it.  She  did  not  care.  She  was  so  miserable. 

"Well?"  vouchsafed  the  Ambassador,  neutrally. 

104 


THE  RIFT  WITHIN  THE  LUTE 

"I  am  lonely,"  she  confessed,  suddenly,  with  a  pitiful 
little  thrill  in  her  voice.  Well  aware  was  she  that  without 
her  mask  the  present  scene  would  have  remained  forever 
unrehearsed. 

' '  Have  you  not  all  you  require  ?  Are  the  servants  not 

to  your  taste  ?  Do  they  not ?' '  He  was  speaking  as 

though  by  rote. 

She  interrupted  him  passionately.  ' '  The  servants  ?  The 
household  ?  How  dense  you  are  !  I  want  companionship. 
I  am  lonely  over  here.  At  home  it  is  so  different.  All 
the  girls  run  in,  and  there  are  a  thousand  and  one  inter- 
ests— I  can — forget.  I  miss "  she  hesitated  a  mo- 
ment. 

He  had  been  regarding  her  steadily.  Now  his  eyelids 
were  lowered.  His  head  was  bent  upon  his  chest.  He 
had  folded  his  arms.  He  stood  perfectly  still,  apparently 
listening  with  indifference.  In  reality  his  heart  had  swelled 
terribly  under  that  pitiful  thrill  in  her  voice.  ' '  Poor 
child,"  he  was  thinking  ;  "poor,  little,  tortured  child." 

"  I  miss,"  she  said,  with  emphasis,  "Jack." 

' '  Ah  !' '  from  the  Ambassador.  The  exclamation  had 
come  out  with  a  rush.  It  was  immediately  checked.  It 
seemed  to  his  wife  that  Markoe  bit  off  a  piece  of  sponta- 
neity between  his  teeth.  His  tongue  was  his  slave,  not 
his  master  ;  his  will,  a  heavily  hampered  adversary.  His 
intention  invariably  governed  his  impulse. 

Because  of  which  he  added  later  in  that  colorless  voice 
of  his  which  could  be  so  tender  but  would  not,  ' '  Odd 
that  you  miss  him.  Why,  the  boy  has  been  gone  but  two 
days  !" 

"All  the  same,  I  miss  him,"  intensely,  giving  vent, 
apparently,  to  an  unbridled  impulse  in  order  to  deliver  her 
heart  of  an  overcharged  memory.  ' '  He  has  time  for  me. 
He  listens  to  me.  He  admires  me.  He  understands  me. 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

He  runs  errands  for  me.  He  looks  up  things  and  places 
for  me  to  go  and  see.  He  is  Jack.  Bless  him  !' '  cried 
this  little  rebel. 

The  Ambassador  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  he 
vouchsafed,  with  a  humorous  irony  cropping  out  between 
his  words,  ' '  An  efficient  self-made  courier,  Jack,  you 
mean  ?' ' 

"  How  unkind  !"  she  ejaculated. 

1 ' But  a  fair  specimen, ' '  he  hastened  to  add  ;  "a  very 
fair  specimen  of  a  boy. ' ' 

"Fair!"  she  reiterated,  scornfully,  with  that  exasper- 
ating look  women  wear  of  knowing  much  which  they  could 
disclose  but  won't. 

"A  little  raw,"  went  on  the  Ambassador's  cool,  piti- 
less voice,  ' '  suggestive  of  veal  somewhat,  at  intervals,  in 
his  enthusiasms,  head  over  heel  of  their  kind.  Too  im- 
petuous. Young,  but  considerable  of  a  boy." 

"Boy!"  she  cried,  with  an  impatient  movement.  She 
was  looking  at  him  defiantly  as  she  passed  him.  He  had 
procured  his  hat,  and  was  about  to  follow  her  to  the  car- 
riage. ' '  I  hardly  think  you  realize,  Stephen,  how  very 
much  Jack  is  a — man." 

There  was  a  pause.  She  descended  the  stairs.  He 
stood  with  the  door-knob  in  his  hand  looking  straight  at 
her. 

"Do  you?"   he  inquired,  pleasantly. 

Mrs.  Markoe  stepped  past  him  into  the  carriage. 

"En  route,"  said  Markoe  to  the  footman  after  he  had 
tucked  the  carriage  robes  about  his  mistress,  the  Ambas- 
sador standing  a  grim  sponsor  for  the  deed  the  while. 
"  Attendez,"  to  the  coachman.  The  footman  had  sprung 
to  his  seat. 

The  Ambassador  took  off  his  hat  and  leaned  his  head 
into  the  brougham  window. 

1 06 


THE  RIFT  WITHIN  THE  LUTE 

"  Do  I  neglect  you — is  that  what  you  mean,  Kate?"  he 
asked. 

She  hesitated. 

' '  I  think, ' '  she  returned  after  a  moment  that  literally 
throbbed  with  unseen  things  for  them  both,  ' '  perhaps,  that 
if  you  stopped  to  consider  the  little  time  you  give  me,  and 
how  much  you  lavish  on  other  people,  you  would  conclude 
that,  from  appearances,  an  unbiased  critic  might  imagine 
the  other  people  to  be  uppermost. ' '  The  tone  was  stand- 
offish in  the  extreme. 

' '  Do  not  we  pay  all  our  official  visits  together  ?' '  dryly. 

"Yes." 

' '  We  drive  every  afternoon — you  have  told  me  we 
should  be  seen  together  at  least  once  a  day — in  the  Bois. ' ' 

"Oh,  that!" 

"We  are  the  living  picture  of  a  happy  couple,"  went 
on  the  monotonous  voice.  ' '  Is  not  that  enough  ?' ' 

"  I  hate  living  pictures,"  flashed  out  Folly. 

The  Ambassador  stared  icily  into  the  eyes  behind  the 
mask  ;  they  were  regarding  him  defiantly.  His  wife's  whole 
figure  was  visible.  There  was  a  brilliant  gas  lamp  near. 

' '  I  think  that  was  our  bargain  ;  was  it  not,  Kate  ?' ' 

She  stirred  ever  so  slightly.  That  he  should  have  been 
obliged  to  remind  her  ! 

' '  Kate  !' '     The  tone  was  rasping,  a  cry. 

' '  Will  you  tell  Baptiste  to  drive  on  ?' '  she  asked,  icily. 


107 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 
CHAPTER  XIII 

REMINISCENT 

THE  Ambassador  made  his  way  up  the  steps  heavily  as 
Mrs.  Markoe's  brougham  rolled  out  into  the  Avenue  Mar- 
ceau.  There  was  no  spring  in  his  step.  There  was  little 
life  in  his  face.  When  he  reached  his  study  he  sank  into  a 
chair  and  bent  his  forehead  on  his  scooped  palm. 

He  was  looking  back,  a  luxury  he  seldom  indulged  in. 
He  was  a  man  of  simple  habits.  He  considered  retrospec- 
tion foolish  in  the  first  place,  useless  in  the  second. 

She  had  said  full  two  years  ago  that  she  ' '  did  not  love 
him."  He  had  answered  that  he  "  knew." 

Yes.     He  knew. 

He  had  never  forgiven  himself  the  gigantic  folly  of  sup- 
posing an  exquisite  child  like  Kate  Morrow  could  love  a 
man  of  his  settled  tastes  and  ponderous  convictions.  To 
be  sure,  she  had  said  she  loved  him,  at  the  first,  dazzled 
possibly  by  the  prospect  of  becoming  united  with  a  public 
citizen  who  ranked  so  high  among  his  fellow-creatures. 
But  the  respect  she  had  borne  him — which,  out  of  her  inno- 
cence and  ignorance,  she  considered  love — had  ' '  not  been 
love"  she  confessed  to  him,  one  night,  in  her  impetuous, 
abnormally  cruel,  self-revealment. 

He  loved  her.  He  always  should  love  her.  The  fact 
was  as  unalterable  as  his  life.  But  ' '  in  his  middle-aged 
way,"  she  had  more  than  once  reminded  him.  Her  youth 
was  the  only  feature  which  made  him  bitterly  regret  his 
middle  age  at  times.  Man-like,  he  ignored  the  loss  of 
beauty  or  charm  which  the  acknowledgment  of  years  brings 
home  so  painfully  to  a  woman.  He  had  considered  that 

108 


REMINISCENT 

she  must  know  how  profoundly  she  was  the  flesh  of  his 
flesh  and  the  bone  of  his  bone.  None  other. 

That  had  been  his  gravest  fault  she  had  told  him  ;  the 
sin  which  she  could  not  forgive.  His  simple  faith  that  she 
knew  and  understood,  believed,  trusted.  She  ignored  the 
fact  that  reiterated  expression  of  love  often  emphasizes  a 
conscious  lack  which  the  concealment  of  passion  reveals. 

She  had  begun  by  drawing  comparisons  with  the  manners 
of  the  husbands  of  her  friends.  Gradually  it  stole  in  upon 
her  that  Stephen  was  undemonstrative.  In  her  maiden 
pride  she  dared  not  plead  for  outward  symptoms.  In  his 
recognition  of  the  concession  she  had  made,  according  him 
her  youth  and  unusual  beauty  in  exchange  for  his  mature 
manhood  and  experience,  he  feared  to  evince  his  passion 
too  forcibly,  for  fear  of  altogether  killing  hers. 

They  had  drifted  slowly  and  surely,  in  consequence,  wider 
and  wider  apart. 

Then,  that  night !  He  was  remembering  it  now.  .  The 
shadow  on  his  face  was  heavy  ;  the  indomitable  mouth, 
with  its  look  of  steadfastness  and  power,  was  extremely  sad. 
The  man  sat  literally  eating  his  heart  out  over  his  sorrow. 
That  night — would  he  ever  forget  the  little  proud  quiver- 
ing figure  in  its  ball-dress,  standing  on  the  threshold  of 
their  room  at  home?  He  likened  her,  in  after-hours,  to 
the  angel  with  the  flaming  sword  denying  him  his  Gate  of 
Paradise. 

She  had  accused  him  of  indifference.  Some  fancied 
slight,  some  evidence  of  selfishness  of  which  he  had  been 
guiltless.  As  he  listened,  the  total  unreasonableness  of  her 
attack  had  come  home  to  him  so  strongly  that  he  had 
found  no  words  with  which  to  refute  her  misconstruction. 
He  had  only  recognized  the  collapse  of  his  dream.  His 
fairy  structure  had  crumbled  before  his  eyes. 

He  had  no  heart  to  patch  it  together.  Vainer  men  than 

109 


A  NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

he  might  have  endeavored  to  do  so, — men  less  passionately 
and  singly  devoted.  But  he  had  not  even  denied.  He  had 
recoiled,  mentally  helpless,  before  her  torrent  of  wilful  mis- 
apprehension and  injustice. 

She  had  her  passion  out.  Even  after  it  had  spent  itself 
it  never  occurred  to  him  to  remind  her  of  the  evidences  of  his 
loving  care  and  trust,  and  pride  in  her  her  home  bore  wit- 
ness to  ;  her  unlimited  expenditures  expressed  ;  her  freedom 
and  original  methods  exposed  ;  the  hard  places  he  softened 
for  her  by  watchfulness  as  tactful  as  it  was  deft ;  the  errors 
of  judgment  she  might  have  made  without  his  steady  good 
sense  at  the  helm.  Personally,  his  ambition  was  an  un- 
known quantity. 

For  her  it  was  overpowering.  Nobody  appreciated  more 
acutely  than  this  silent,  self-contained  man  Kate  Markoe's 
rare  qualities.  But  it  was  innate  with  him  to  foster  and 
cherish  silently  the  thing  he  loved  ;  to  strive  not  to  spoil  it 
with  overpraise.  His  reserve,  sadly  enough  a  latent  force 
which  had  accrued  with  startling  rapidity  under  her  reit- 
erated accusation  of  a  selfishness  which  left  her  whims  un- 
considered,  was  the  source  of  all  her  wretchedness. 

He  had  not  spoken  ;  principally  because  he  had  learned, 
by  aid  of  her  cutting,  merciless  words,  she  did  not  care. 

It  would  have  taken  a  more  accomplished  student  of 
womankind  than  Stephen  Markoe  to  dare  combat  a  force  so 
tangible  as  this. 

Theirs  was  the  old  story  of  the  woman  who  demands  the 
expression  of  love  exhaustively,  endlessly,  and  of  the  man 
who  feels  it  so  much  he  cannot  express  it.  She  wanted 
words.  He  gave  proofs.  She  exacted  assurances.  He 
lived  and  breathed  for  her.  She  ignored  it. 

"With  your  coldness  and  indifference,"  she  had  said, 
' '  you  have  put  me  away  from  you.  You  have  made  life 
commonplace  where  it  should  have  been  rose-colored. ' ' 


REMINISCENT 

"  Rose-colored  !"  he  had  exclaimed,  bitterly,  bewildered 
at  having  to  wage  war  against  this  untenable  idealistic  vision, 
— he  who  knew  so  exhaustively  the  ins  and  outs  of  things, 
the  realities  of  life,  the  ineptitudes  of  happiness,  "  Rose- 
colored  !  You  should  have  married  a  boy — with  views." 

"True,"  she  retorted.  "But  we  are  married,  more's 
the  pity,  and  you,  as  much  as  I,  must  put  up  with  it.  But 
since  you  will  not  and  cannot  fall  in  with  my  '  views, '  spare 
me  the  semblance  of  love  from  a  sense  of  duty.  We  can 
keep  up  an  effigy  of  happiness  if  you  like,  for  the  sake  of 
appearances.  The  rest  is  odious,  impossible, — as  much  to 
you,  no  doubt,  as  to  me. ' ' 

And  he  had  not  spoken. 

Out  of  his  acknowledgment  of  her  sweetest  purity  and 
youth,  with  the  sad  and  solemn  conviction  of  her  lament- 
able disorder,  he  forbore  to  plead  where  a  lesser  man 
might  have  commanded. 

Since  then  they  had  led  the  crippled,  strangled  life  of  two 
beings  yoked  together  by  one  acknowledged  purpose  :  to 
deceive  the  world  as  to  their  real  relation. 

In  the  interests  of  his  busy  life  the  sordid  weariness  of  the 
situation  went  out  at  periods,  swallowed  up  by  his  cares.  At 
deeper  moments  he  contemplated  it  all  with  profound  pity. 

He  had  rejoiced  for  her  sake  at  the  recent  honor  so  un- 
expectedly thrust  upon  him.  "  It  may  lighten  her  burden, 
poor  child,"  he  thought. 

Instead  the  breach  seemed  widening.  He  was  more 
powerless  than  ever  to  arrest  its  course. 

She,  acclaimed  as  the  bright  particular  star  of  any  and 
every  firmament,  utilized  other  men's  admiration  as  a 
wedge  to  widen  her  grievance.  She  literally  flung  herself 
into  a  vortex  of  gayety  because  of  the  consciousness  of  the 
death  of  all  things  which  made  life  worth  living.  She 
thought  she  had  been  disillusionized.  She  was  only  blind. 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

He  controlled  her  incomings  and  outgoings  unmurmur- 
ingly  ;  her  banker  ;  her  adviser,  when  requested  ;  her  com- 
rade no  more. 

He  felt  like  her  jailer.  She  fretted  at  the  bars.  She  con- 
sidered herself  forsaken,  overlooked  in  the  Ambassador's 
dignified  interpretation  of  his  manifold  duties.  She  forgot 
his  present  most  difficult  position  of  trust  existed  by  force 
of  her  commands.  She  would  have  been  grateful  for  his 
interest  even,  had  he  exhibited  nothing  more.  He  dared 
not  profess  to  feel  interest.  He  had  arrived  at  almost  not 
feeling  it.  He  gave  purpose,  patience,  will,  care,  fidelity, 
in  return  for  her  mutability. 

But  his  pride  had  received  an  almost  mortal  blow. 

Hers,  woman-like,  resented  its  own  unjustly  enforced, 
hence  most  deserving,  punishment. 


CHAPTER    XIV 
AT  THE  DUCHESSE'S 

THERE  is  a  dart  through  the  perfumed  air  ;  then  a 
many-colored  flash,  swift  as  the  wing-fleck  of  a  flying  bird. 

"It's  Mariotti  !"  shouts  the  tossing  throng,  pushing 
forward  in  its  eager,  insatiable  reach  after  a  new  toy. 

The  Hotel  Launoy  is  thrown  wide  from  the  tessellated 
vestibule  faced  with  a  granite  double-balustered  flight  of 
steps,  through  the  vast  entrance  hall  galleried  above  into 
two  tiers  of  landings,  past  the  antechambers,  the  large 
and  small  salons,  in  under  the  marble  staircase  which  leads 
to  the  floor  above,  out  to  the  famous  gardens  which  lie 
melting  and  quivering  under  the  dual  rays  of  tempered 
electric  light  and  full  moonbeam. 

112 


AT  THE  DUCHESSE'S 

It  is  crowded  with  a  rainbow-tinted  throng  of  dancers 
and  masks  frolicking,  pirouetting  in  mad  accord.  There 
are  dominoes,  orange,  purple,  yellow,  scarlet,  white,  black, 
mauve,  pink,  green.  There  are  cardinals  in  blood-colored 
robes  chatting  with  peers  of  an  unknown  realm  in  black 
and  yellow.  Purple-clad  prelates  sandle-footed,  rosary- 
belted  ;  monseigneurs,  a  group  of  them,  wearing  the  em- 
erald insignia  which  bespeaks  the  Vatican.  There  are 
pages  like  old  missals  in  illuminated  colors,  green,  bronze, 
and  dull  gilt.  There  are  vivandieres  in  regimental  orders, 
tiny  barrels  slung  across  their  shoulders,  administering  re- 
freshing beverages  to  the  overheated  dancers. 

Pierrots  and  Pierrettes  coo  like  traditional  doves  in  corners 
against  the  tapestried  background  of  discrete  tete-a-tete 
rooms  screened  for  the  purpose  of  exchanging  confidences. 
The  wax  lights  flicker  under  their  tinted  globes.  Bands 
of  revellers,  linked  arm  in  arm,  chase  across  the  vestibule, 
down  the  steps,  and  round  the  house  to  the  garden  at  the 
back.  They  surround  the  great  granite  palace. 

There  is  a  lull. 

The  queen  of  the  footlights  arrives,  dashing  up  under 
the  porte  coch£re  in  her  specially  constructed  victoria 
which  bespeaks,  in  the  clamor  of  its  belled  harness,  the 
notoriety  of  a  celebrity.  She  comes  attired  in  her  well- 
known  toilette  in  which  she  has  played  the  death  scene  in 
a  drama  being  given  at  the  Renaissance,  a  drama  in  which 
the  heroine  dies  of  poison  in  her  own  ball-room.  After 
which  death's  portrayer  has  administered  a  fresh  dash  of 
powder  to  her  nose  and  a  soupfon  of  rouge  to  her  chin 
and  her  ear-lobes,  and  has  made  off  to  secure  her  portion 
of  amusement. 

Hers  is  a  royal  road  up  the  marble  staircase  towards  the 
Duchesse,  who  extends  her  hand,  to  receive  her  illustrious 
guest,  with  marked  favor.  The  swaying  crowd  fantasti- 
8  113 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

cally  acclaims  this  well-known  theatrical  favorite  with 
fanciful  steps  born  of  the  occasion's  ecstasy.  The  kisses 
that  are  thrown  to  her,  the  praises  that  are  exchanged  un- 
der her  pleased  gaze,  the  pirouettes  which  are  executed, 
before  her  advancing  figure,  as  a  gayly  constituted  body- 
guard speeds  forth  to  lead  her  up  the  stairs,  prove  her 
popularity. 

She  bows  and  smiles,  highly  elated. 

The  marble  balustrades  are  bound  with  garlands  of  roses. 
Ministers  of  State,  disguised  as  court  fools  or  grand  cham- 
berlains, block  the  way,  inclining  fantastically,  saluting 
pompously.  There  are  Eastern  women  veiled  everywhere 
except  across  their  eyes,  and  Spanish  dancers  with  twink- 
ling ankles. 

The  orchestra  strikes  up  the  Habanera. 

A  feminine  figure  with  a  high  comb  in  her  hair,  a  red 
rose  concealed  in  a  coquettishly  disposed  piece  of  lace,  a 
rounded  body  fitted  miraculously  into  a  yellow  satin  gown 
meshed  in  black  chenille,  emerges  from  a  group  of  chatter- 
ing maskers  and  begins  stepping  daintily,  with  insinuating 
grace,  to  the  intrinsically  voluptuous  strains  of  Bizet's  Car- 
men. She  sings  ;  she  dances  :  at  the  same  time  she  lends 
an  unhipped  translation  of  the  Spanish  heroine  to  the  lilt 
of  that  audacious  theme  which  undoes  austerity  as  effectu- 
ally as  it  teaches  an  erotic  lesson  in  living. 

The  throng  begins  whispering  among  itself  that  this  is 
a  personage  of  note.  Not  the  prima  donna  Paris  had  ac- 
claimed all  winter  in  a  hitherto  altogether  novel  and  exu- 
berant example  of  their  favorite  character.  At  the  whisper — 
an  aristocratic  name  speeds  from  ear  to  ear,  from  lip  to  lip — 
a  wave  of  apprehension  sweeps  across  the  dancing  body. 

With  an  unattended  dart  it  glides  away  and  is  lost 
amid  the  throng. 

A  group  of  clownesses  waltz  forward.  They  trip  out  a 

114 


AT  THE  DUCHESSE'S 

fandango,  their  odd,  white-leaded  countenances  ludicrously 
painted  in  effigy  of  a  smile,  with  wide  red  lips  and  con- 
vulsed brows,  and  cheeks  made  up  of  laughter  lines.  They 
make  way  for  a  set  of  Watteau  shepherds  and  shepherdesses 
who,  at  a  given  signal,  take  their  places  in  line  to  the  stately 
measure  of  a  minuet.  It  is  followed  by  a  gavotte,  the  pow- 
dered heads  of  the  maskers  inclining  as  by  rote,  their  move- 
ments marked. 

The  evening  is  but  a  quarter  spent,  the  flowers  are  barely 
withered  on  their  stems,  the  atmosphere  has  not  had  time 
to  vitiate,  when  a  harlequin  springs  into  view  ;  a  harlequin 
made  of  fire  and  steel,  or  quicksilver,  with  elastic  limbs, 
muscular,  tireless,  a  victim  of  fantastic  quips,  of  daring 
leaps,  of  insinuating  curves,  a  very  prince  of  mischief  and 
by-play. 

It  seems  as  though  he  comes  to  prove  how  rarely  good 
a  thing  is  laughter  ;  how  worthy  of  seeking,  happiness  ; 
how  fleeting,  gayety.  He  proves  the  first  with  his  high 
spirits,  the  acme  of  intoxication  ;  he  accentuates  the  sec- 
ond in  his  recklessness.  He  leads  the  game  of  merriment, 
a  very  king  of  fools. 

"It's  Mariotti  !"  they  all  cry  simultaneously,  at  last,  as 
exhausted  with  his  meanderings,  led  hither  and  thither 
after  his  bewildering  ups  and  downs  and  sideways  pranks, 
they  recede. 

As  one  man  they  mass  together  to  still  him.  This 
elusive  sprite,  with  his  black  and  green  and  purple  limbs, 
must  be  taken  captive.  But  as  they  press  forward,  their 
arms  extended,  laughing,  shouting,  striving  to  caress,  the 
figure  bounds  up  past  them  into  the  air  and  disappears. 

"It's  Mariotti!  It  must  be  Mariotti!"  they  yell, 
aghast. 

They  have  -surged  forward  to  seize  him,  grasping,  trip* 
ping,  falling.  He  has  melted  into  thin  air. 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

They  stop  appalled. 

For  as  they  hiss,  roar,  shout,  tumble  about  in  searcn  of 
this  being  who  represents  in  such  perfection  the  nucleus  of 
their  unchecked  joy,  suddenly  far  out  on  the  edge,  perched 
on  an  ornate  encrustation  of  an  elaborate  pillar,  above  the 
gallery  in  which  is  seated  the  Duchesse  and  her  guests, 
looms  forth  their  fantastic  tormentor,  scaling  easily  the 
dizziest  height  imaginable. 

Then  there  rises  a  cheer  of  astonishment  and  recogni- 
tion !  Their  doubts  are  at  an  end.  Their  failure  to  achieve 
as  much  as  this  being  whose  art  it  is  to  prove  a  level  head, 
steel-muscled  limbs,  is  explicable. 

No  one  save  Mariotti  had  been  capable  of  this.  Mariotti, 
the  clown,  the  trapeze  performer,  the  spoiled  child  of  the 
hour.  This  is,  indeed,  a  whim  of  the  Duchesse.  How 
magnificently  wrought  out  ! 

Here  he  comes  ! 

He  swoops  down  upon  them  with  a  wild  yell.  He  clasps 
a  struggling,  shrieking  vivandiere  captive.  He  bends  his 
masked  lips  to  hers,  in  spite  of  the  jeerings  and  mockings 
of  the  delighted  crowd.  As  he  bends  to  kiss  the  face — so 
masterfully  forced  to  meet  the  mocking  masked  one  above 
it — suddenly  his  hand  shoots  forth.  It  seizes  a  rose  from 
the  bosom  of  a  laughing  flower-girl  near.  With  a  mocking 
motion — carrying  in  its  pantomimic  hint  the  definition  that 
stolen  fruit  is  not  a  preference  of  this  delinquent — he  lays 
his  pillaged  proffering  saucily  against  the  lips  below  his, 
and  dashes  on,  the  throng  at  his  heels. 

"Mariotti,  it  is  thou,  n'est-ce-pas?  Tell  us  the  tale  of 
the  baa-baa  and  the  cow  ;  eh,  Mariotti?" 

But  the  harlequin  darts  ahead,  now  here,  now  there,  run- 
ning in  jumps  like  a  kangaroo,  crawling  on  all-fours  like  a 
dog,  leaping  to  inscribe  curious  circles  in  the  air,  turning  at 
unexpected  intervals  with  that  mock  air  of  superiority  to 

116 


AT  THE  DUCHESSE'S 

cheer,  in  emulation  of  the  crowd's  caterwaulings  ;  to  shout 
in  imitation  of  their  shouts  ;  to  shriek,  to  laugh,  to  ap- 
plaud. 

He  starts  as  a  major-domo  passes  attired  as  a  halberdier. 
The  pompous  fellow  brings  down  his  jewelled  staff  upon 
the  tessellated  floor  and  announces  in  stentorian  tones, 
"Souper." 

The  harlequin's  pursuers  perceive  their  advantage.  They 
rush  forward  and  fall  upon  him.  For  an  instant  they  seem 
to  hold  the  most  daring  figure  of  all  in  their  delighted  tu- 
multuous grasp, — for  an  instant  only. 

The  creature  must  be  possessed  of  a  demoniacal  force,  of 
a  magic  means  of  escape.  He  eludes, — their  hands  and 
arms  fingering  his  garments,  with  the  taste  of  his  breath 
in  their  nostrils. 

He  stands  at  the  head  of  the  staircase  now,  looking  back 
with  that  mocking  air  which  is  so  indescribably  mischievous. 

There  is  an  inarticulate  cry  of  baffled  rage.  A  domino 
darts  forward, — of  unutterable  mischief,  on  pleasure  bent. 
He  will  attain  or  die. 

With  a  leap  far  into  the  perfumed  air  below  him — a  leap 
in  which  the  tense,  elastic,  marvellously  graceful  figure  has 
seemed  for  one  breathless  instant  to  swing  in  mid-air,  mo- 
tionless— Mariotti  is  no  more  ! 

Did  he  go  down  the  staircase?  Nobody  knows.  Did 
he  glide  away  on  a  moonbeam  ?  A  drifting  ray  is  melting 
in  below  there  through  the  aperture  of  a  tented  recess  to 
the  left  of  the  entrance-way.  The  question  is  unanswer- 
able,— Mariotti,  their  life,  their  toy,  their  tireless,  bewitching 
comrade,  has  gone,  escaped  them. 

The  throng  protesting  tumultuously,  exchanging  laugh- 
ing, irritated  sallies,  is  forced  to  seek  amusement  elsewhere. 

As  the  fantastic  form  glides  through  the  gardens  furtively, 
leaping  over  dark  spaces  with  noiseless  feet,  evading  the 

117 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

bright  patches  made  by  the  moonbeams  and  artificial  lights, 
there  comes  a  breath  in  his  ear. 

"  Mariotti  !  I  am  a  friend;  tu  comprends?  Meet  me 
there — by  the  kiosque." 

The  sentence  is  voiced  in  French,  with  a  slight  foreign 
inflection. 

' '  Bien, ' '  says  Mariotti.  The  fever  of  intrigue  is  still 
boiling  in  his  blood. 

Ten  minutes  later  two  figures  stand  under  a  tree  in  front 
of  a  kiosque  at  the  corner  of  the  Champs- Ely  sees.  The 
Place  de  la  Concorde,  softly  lit  up  with  its  myriad,  absinthe- 
colored  lights,  stilly  gleams  under  the  velvet  impress  of  the 
night.  It  stars  its  own  pathway,  from  the  Seine  to  the 
Madeleine,  until  dawn. 

It  is  late, — two  A.M.  The  speaker  is  pleading.  Mariotti 
obstinate. 

' '  And  wherefore,  monsieur  ?' ' 

' '  For  a  freak.  Simply  a  whim.  I  will  make  it  one  hun- 
dred francs. ' ' 

"A  song,"  protests  Mariotti,  contemptuously.  The  keen 
light  of  the  professional  expert  who  knows  more  than  the 
face  value  of  the  talent  his  public  overrates  grows  apace  in 
his  unmasked  countenance.  He  is  moping  his  purple  brow. 

"  Five  hundred,"  impatiently. 

Mariotti' s  pulse  leaps.  He  glances  curiously  at  the 
speaker.  Is  he  prince  or  beggar  ?  It  would  be  difficult 
to  determine.  The  stranger  wears  a  slouch  hat,  well  drawn 
over  his  brows.  A  scarf  conceals  his  chin  and  throat  to 
the  eyes.  He  is  attired  in  a  loose  coat.  His  boots  are 
muddy.  He  is  tall  and  spare. 

' '  Eight  hundred, ' '  suggests  Mariotti  finally,  still  reluc- 
tantly ;  adding,  as  his  companion  hesitates,  "  I  hand  you 
over  the  costume  then  for  good  and  all. ' ' 

"Done." 

118 


AT  THE   DUCHESSE'S 

In  a  trice  Mariotti  stands  counting  over  the  bills  in  be- 
wildered fashion.  Who  is  this  individual  who  carries  bank- 
notes worth — so  it  seems  to  the  simple  rascal — a  king's 
ransom  on  his  person,  who  exchanges  his  own  identity  for 
the  doubtful  calling  of  a  clown  with  calm  ?  Mariotti' s  cos- 
tume has  been  donned  above  his  every- day  clothes.  The 
individual  into  whose  eager  hands  he  has  thrust  his  dis- 
guise has  seized  it  piece  by  piece  as  it  is  doffed,  gingerly. 
He  contemplates  it  with  what  seems  like  satisfaction.  In 
reality  it  is  disgust.  The  costume  is  worn,  old,  and  shabby. 

"Hold,"  says  Mariotti.  "I  do  a  scurvy  thing,  mon- 
sieur, to  thus  sell  myself  twice." 

"Twice?" 

There  is  the  underlying  impress  of  a  humorous  contempt 
in  the  tone,  a  dominant  note  which  has  transfixed  the  clown 
all  through  this  odd  transaction.  It  seems  now  to  boast  of 
a  power  which  threatens  to  overmatch  Mariotti' s  belief  that 
he  has  contracted  a  good  bargain, — what  Mariotti  calls  a 
"good  bargain," — clean  money  for  a  roll  of  dirty  rags. 
The  mask  has  been  handed  over  also.  The  recipient  cogi- 
tates. He,  visibly,  is  wondering  where  he  may  effect  a 
change  in  his  own  costume  without  disclosing  his  identity. 

The  mask  first. 

As  he  lifts  his  hat  to  insinuate  the  little  black  silk  face 
between  his  eyebrows  and  hair,  Mariotti  gives  vent  to  a 
low  exclamation  of  wrathful  recognition. 

"Ciel!"  he  falls  back.  "But,"  he  cries  aloud,  "it's 
the  monsieur  who ' ' 

"  Be  silent,  you  hound  !" 

Mariotti  desists,  shaking  like  a  leaf.  He  clasps  his 
hands  appealingly.  "  Monsieur,  monsieur  !  it  must  not 
be.  You  alone  know  Lamballe's  secret.  He  wears  my 
costume  also.  It  must  not  be.  With  two  of  me  there 
will  be  endless  complications." 

119 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

"Yes,"  concurs  the  voice  behind  the  scarf,  with  grim 
determination  not  unpossessed  of  a  biting  humor,  ' '  there 
will  be  'complications.'  Look  here,"  it  continues  shortly, 
turning  towards  Mariotti,  who  is  pale  as  a  sheet  and 
trembling  visibly,  "  you  betrayed  his  secret.  More's  the 
pity.  If  you  think  I  have  gone  thus  far  and  am  going  no 
farther  you  don' t  know  me.  See  ?' '  with  a  gentle  irony 
which  leaves  Mariotti  speechless.  The  speaker  is  not 
waiting  for  a  response.  This  he  makes  evident.  ' '  March 
on,  you  son  of  a  mucker,"  impatiently  ;  "show  me  where 
to  make  myself  beautiful  or,  by  Jove,  I'll  tell  your  story 
to  Lamballe  !" 

"There's  a  house  below  there,"  murmurs  Mariotti,  after 
a  moment's  utter  collapse  ;  it  makes  his  companion  chuckle, 
a  sound  Mariotti  remembers  to  the  end  of  his  life.  He 
points  to  a  cluster  of  lights  a  short  distance  from  them. 
"  Monsieur  can  change  his  costume  and  not  be  disturbed." 

"  Right  you  are." 

A  hand  is  laid  heavily  on  Mariotti' s  cringing  shoulder. 
' '  Come  with  me,  you  betrayer  of  identity.  Once  bit, 
twice  shy  ;  I  don' t  think  I  care  to  let  you  out  of  my  sight, 
you  distinguished  rascal." 

"Pour  1' amour  de  Dieu,  monsieur,"  whines  Mariotti; 
he  is  running  alongside  the  tall  figure  which  strides  forward 
so  powerfully,  its  hand  always  fastened  sturdily  in  the 
bunch  of  muscle  which  seems  the  integral  part  of  his  con- 
ductor's coat-sleeve. 

' '  Dieu,  Mariotti  ?' '  repeats  the  ironical,  undaunted 
voice.  "God,  you  mean?  If  'twere  not  for  the  love  of 
woman,  my  boy,  I'd  let  you  go,  God  knows." 


1 20 


HALF-PAST  TWO  A.M. 


CHAPTER  XV 

HALF- PAST   TWO   A.M. 

THE  Duchesse  is  enjoying  herself.  ' '  How  I  like  life  !' ' 
she  ejaculates,  every  now  and  then,  under  her  breath. 
She  has  said  it  more  than  once  in  her  spin  down  the  years  ; 
in  her  manner,  which  is  genial ;  through  her  living,  that  is 
individual.  Her  husband  has  been  a  legitimist.  Odd  that 
she,  his  wife,  should  have  totally  abandoned  his  prejudices, 
which  cramped,  to  assume  her  own,  which  mellow. 

She  ' '  prefers  to  be  taught  than  to  teach, ' '  confesses  the 
Duchesse.  She  has  used  a  portion  of  her  fortune  to  skirt 
the  borders  of  several  continents,  to  prove  foreign  methods 
and  manners,  foreign  ways,  means  of  reasoning,  living. 
She  has  profited  therefrom.  She  has  returned  invariably 
enlightened  to  her  native  land  ;  fresh  air  in  her  hostrils, 
old  theories  banished  ;  swept  clean  of  the  clogging  element 
induced  by  stay-at-home  fogyism. 

The  Duchesse's  main  clause  in  her  declaration  of  inde- 
pendence is  outspoken  admiration  for  America.  She  claims 
it  has  taught  her  two  lessons.  Foremost,  anent  friendship 
between  the  sexes.  Subsequently  as  regards  a  lavish  hos- 
pitality, before  which  she  throws  down  her  arms. 

She  is  reflecting  soberly  to-night,  in  spite  of  her  gay  sal- 
lies and  her  attentive  ears  and  her  comprehending  eyes, 
that  human  nature  is  truer  to  itself  in  mask  and  domino 
than  otherwise.  She  has  always  argued  that  the  big 
maxim,  too  often  considered  a  small  one,  which  bids  so- 
ciety not  carry  its  heart  in  its  sleeve — in  its  hand  if  it  will, 
or  behind  its  tired  eyes,  or  on  its  lips,  or  through  its  make- 

121 


A  NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

shift  tongue,  but  never  in  its  sleeve — to  be  the  provoker  of 
much  that  is  lamentable  in  man-  and  womankind. 

In  that  rollicking  throng  below  she  sees  the  abandon  of 
the  butterfly  under  the  sunlight ;  the  frank  avowal  of  the 
bee  that  seeks  honey  solely  because  it  is  sweet. 

She  is  glad  ;  thankful  she  feels  no  less.  Grateful  she 
sees  no  more. 

"A  very  great  thing,  human  nature,"  states  she  to  her 
neighbor,  an  Austrian  Princess  who  has  arrived  in  Paris  the 
day  before  to  be  at  her  friend's  fete  to-night.  "  A  simple 
and  lovable  thing  too — when  unchecked.  It  only  grows 
petulant,  stifled,  poisonous,  when  it  is  tamed  or  civilized. ' ' 

' '  Do  you  think  so  ?' '  returns  the  Princess,  doubtfully. 

"Think  so,"  repeats  the  Duchesse,  impatiently.  "I 
know  it.  Does  a  dog  fail  to  lick  his  comrade's  wounds  into 
health  until  he  is  taught  there  may  be  poison  in  them  ?' ' 

' '  Ah  !  But  who  puts  the  poison  there  ?' '  returns  the 
Princess,  who  is  notoriously  fond  of  extending  her  ex- 
perience. 

' '  Civilization, ' '  retorts  the  Duchesse,  triumphantly. 
"  Knowledge,  growth.  Nature  teaches  human  nature 
what  not  to  do  every  day  of  its  glowing,  God-proving  ex- 
istence. ' ' 

' '  Youth,  perhaps,  is  willing  to  be  ignorant.  Not  so 
middle  age,"  the  Princess  insists. 

' '  I  am  not  talking  of  rust,  or  moth,  or  mould, ' '  vouch- 
safes the  Duchesse,  with  a  short  sigh.  ' '  I  claim  that  man, 
like  horse,  is  rendered  vicious  through  his  trainer." 

' '  And  his  trainer  is  the  world, ' '  states  the  Princess. 

"It  all  depends  upon  how  we  make  use  of  our  knowl- 
edge," protests  the  Duchesse,  in  her  fresh  mellow  voice. 
1 '  If  the  medicine  administered  to  human  nature  by  human 
nature  were  half  of  it  repudiated,  I  contend  there  would  be 
more  cases  of  salvation  than  have  yet  been  quoted." 

122 


HALF-PAST  TWO   A.M. 

' '  You  are  peculiar.  You  will  not  admit,  even,  of  innate 
wickedness  !" 

' '  Que  veux-tu  ?' '  exclaims  the  Duchesse,  soberly,  ' '  I 
grow  old." 

She  is  seated  in  the  gallery  above  the  great  staircase  op- 
posite the  entrance-way,  which  is  draped  with  silken  tissues 
bearing  the  emblem  of  France,  a  gigantic  fleur-de-lis.  At 
her  left  stands  the  English  Ambassador  with  his  look  of  ac- 
quired dilettantism  impregnated  with  stolid  satisfaction. 
On  her  right  is  an  attach^  of  the  Swedish  Embassy  who 
has  but  just  arrived.  He  bends  to  kiss  her  slender  hand. 
He  watches,  with  kindling  eyes,  the  scene  below  them. 
The  throng  is  swelling  every  hour.  It  is  nearly  two 
thirty  A.M. 

There  is  a  blast  from  the  horn  a  footman,  in  the  de 
Launoy  livery,  had  carried  to  his  lips.  He  is  stationed  near 
the  great  entrance-door  to  announce  the  guests.  The  crowd 
makes  way  for  a  stately  figure  which  moves  past. 

The  Duchesse  draws  in  her  breath.  She  leans  over  the 
railing. 

A  major-domo  has  advanced  to  escort  a  regal  figure  up- 
stairs towards  Madame  de  Launoy. 

One  would  say  Marie  Antoinette  herself,  in  her  palmy 
days,  before  the  ghostly  finger  of  a  hideous  fate  had  pointed 
towards  her.  The  face  is  masked.  But  in  those  royal  blue 
velvet  paniers  from  knee  to  waist,  the  corsage  cut  to  reveal 
a  snowy  neck  and  shoulders,  with  a  kerchief  of  lace  knotted 
about  the  bosom  as  Louis  XVI.'s  queen  loved  to  wear  it, 
with  a  mass  of  snow-white  hair  surmounted  by  a  tocque  of 
blue  velvet,  ornamented  with  a  huge  aigrette  sparkling  with 
diamonds,  this  is  the  fairest  copy  imaginable  of  the  haughty 
Austrian  who  marched  to  her  doom  with  the  same  insouci- 
ance with  which  she  confronted  her  accusers,  and  exposed 
her  follies. 

123 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

"Madeleine,"  explains  the  Duchesse  in  the  Princess's 
ear. 

She  glances  over  her  shoulder  to  see  if  another  expected 
guest  may  have  ingratiated  himself  among  the  group  about 
her  chair.  No.  The  English  Ambassador  is  exchanging 
platitudes  with  the  Princess. 

The  Swedish  attache"  waves  his  handkerchief  across  to  a 
Spanish  beauty  who  has  tossed  him  a  rose. 

As  the  Duchesse  contemplates  the  figure  advancing 
slowly  up  the  stairs,  a  Folly — but  the  most  exquisite  inter- 
pretation of  unwisdom  this  great  lady  has  ever  seen — crosses 
a  corridor  which  meets  the  landing  half-way  up,  and  makes 
her  way  towards  Marie  Antoinette. 

They  exchange  a  few  words.  Together  the  two  come 
forward.  The  major-domo  falls  back. 

The  figure  of  France's  doomed  queen,  singularly  enough, 
— it  occurs  to  the  Duchesse, — is  now  accompanied  by  a 
masked  semblance  of  what  France  so  bitterly  proclaimed 
to  be  her  reigning  sovereign's  besetting  sin.  The  Folly 
who  advances  so  calmly  is  as  eloquent  a  plea  in  her  royal 
mistress's  favor  as  beauty  is  ever  a  plea  for  vanity. 

By  her  bewitching  costume  she  commands  attention. 
Because  the  world  cringes  to  a  master  and  repudiates  a 
slave  she  obtains  it.  Not  an  eye  in  that  vast  assembly 
fails  to  gaze  with  awe  upon  the  two  masked  figures  which, 
with  such  rare  grace,  are  advancing  to  do  homage  to  the 
mistress  of  the  house.  One  and  all  accord  them  the  tribute 
of  boundless  curiosity  and  admiration. 

As  they  stop  under  the  gallery  just  in  front  of  the 
Duchesse  there  rises  a  discreetly  modulated  murmur  of 
applause. 


124 


THREE  MODERN  DROMIOS 
CHAPTER    XVI 

THREE   MODERN    DROMIOS 

THE  Duchesse  leaned  forward  impressively. 

"Thrice  welcome,"  cried  she,  in  her  sonorous  voice. 
"Will  your  most  gracious  Majesty  but  condescend  to 
seat  herself  within  my  humble  circle  ?' '  This  was  said  in 
emulation  of  the  exalted  manner  required  of  a  reigning 
sovereign's  subjects,  a  manner  which  the  Duchesse,  with 
twinkling  eyes,  hit  off  to  the  life,  while  at  the  same  time 
she  regarded  every  detail  of  the  marvellously  perfect  cos- 
tume which  submitted  itself  to  her  appreciative  scrutiny. 

She  threw  wide  a  carved  minature  gate,  a  part  of  the 
gallery  railing  in  front  of  her.  The  hasp  of  this  was  un- 
fastened only  at  the  Duchesse' s  sweet  will.  She  made  a 
motion  for  Marie  Antoinette  to  enter. 

' '  Most  willingly, ' '  returned  a  low  voice,  with  a  sober, 
musical  intonation. 

Without  further  ado  the  queen  entered.  With  a  stately 
inclination  to  the  distinguished  company  attendant  upon 
the  Duchesse  she  seated  herself  at  her  hostess's  right. 

The  gate  still  remained  ajar. 

The  Duchesse  was  observing  closely  the  enchanting 
originality  of  the  figure  dressed  as  Folly  which  lingered 
outside. 

"A  friend  of  Madeleine's,"  thought  she.  She  again  in- 
clined. She  repeated  the  gesture  of  invitation  with  which 
she  had  begged  Marie  Antoinette  to  join  her  ranks. 

To  her  surprise,  Folly  demurred. 

"Not  so,"  murmured  a  disguised  voice,  indistinctly, 
from  behind  a  perforated  golden  mask  dotted  with  seed 

125 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

pearls,  and  flounced  with  a  ruffle  of  lace  which  barely  con- 
cealed the  cleft  in  a  lovely  chin.  ' '  It  were  not  meet,  oh, 
most  noble  lady,  that  Folly  should  attain,  without  effort, 
so  exalted  a  recognition  as  a  queen  of  France." 

The  Duchesse  smiled.  The  words  were  double-edged. 
She  welcomed  wit,  like  most  French  women,  as  a  proof  of 
that  superior  mentality  which  fences  by  means  of  femi- 
ninity's best  weapon, — tact. 

"And  yet,"  she  replied,  "we  are  told  that  Folly  has 
climbed  heights,  and  sounded  depths,  that  many  a  queen 
has  aspired  to,  vainly." 

' '  The  reason  why  Folly,  to-night,  elects  to  remain  out- 
side the  charmed  circle,"  returned  the  disguised  voice 
of  her  interlocutor,  instantly ;  ' '  she  prefers  the  common 
throng  with  whom  intrigue  is  the  watchword,  where  honors 
may  be  even." 

' '  A  wise  decision, ' '  murmured  the  Duchesse,  approv- 
ingly. 

She  pulled  the  gate  to.  Across  her  face,  the  only  femi- 
nine one  in  that  vast  assembly  which  remained  unmasked, 
flitted  the  shadow  of  a  regret.  Who  was  this  who  dared 
to  decline  an  honor  extended  to  so  few,  she  wondered  for 
a  brief  second. 

Folly  stood  lightly  poised  on  her  two  slippered  feet. 
The  light  from  the  mammoth  crystal  chandelier  above 
shone  out  to  light  two  huge  paste  buckles  which  sparkled 
against  her  high  instep,  against  her  orange  silk  ankles, 
and  the  tiny  satin  slippers  embroidered  with  French  love- 
knots.  Through  her  mask  her  eyes  gazed  intently,  seek- 
ing to  pierce  the  subtle  meaning  of  the  manifold  crush 
below,  a  crush  of  color  kaleidoscopic,  surging  in  and  out : 
a  quivering  rainbow  of  varying  beauty. 

As  she  looked,  there  floated  towards  her  ears  and  to  the 
ears  of  the  Duchesse  and  her  guests  an  indistinct  murmur, 

126 


THREE   MODERN   DROMIOS 

which  advanced,  was  caught  up,  and  spread  with  the 
rapidity  of  chain-lightning.  From  a  group  around  the 
entrance-way,  in  and  out  of  the  myriad  corridors  to  left 
and  right  of  the  hall  below,  until  it  increased  to  a  roar 
which  widened  and  deepened,  the  sound  seemed  a  worded 
device,  tossed  like  a  shuttlecock  from  mind  to  mind,  from 
lip  to  lip,  from  tongue  to  tongue. 

It  detached  itself  at  last  from  the  noise  and  confusion, 
and  sprang  crisply  forth  out  of  the  throng's  midst  to  salute 
the  straining  ears  of  the  Duchesse  and  her  group. 

When  it  sounded,  that  portion  of  the  swarm  of  maskers 
who,  up  to  this,  had  ignored  its  import,  became  as  though 
magically  endowed  with  unparalleled  intoxication.  A  new 
pulse  was  born,  an  emanation  from  the  joy  the  word' s  utter- 
ance foretold,  a  talisman  that  made  that  whole  laughing 
world  akin. 

In  a  trice  the  multitude  was  cheering,  shouting,  surging, 
gesticulating.  Myriad  faces  twisted  eagerly  towards  a  figure 
which,  it  could  now  be  seen,  was  pushing  its  way  through 
the  ranks  about  the  entrance-door. 

"It's  a  man,"  announced  the  English  Ambassador, — 
leaning  forward  from  a  higher  altitude  than  the  rest  of 
the  Duchesse' s  circle  had  been  able  to  command,  he  thus 
controlled  a  view  which  overlooked  the  situation  below, — 
1 '  a  man  in  the  costume  of  a  harlequin.  He  enters.  He 
is  coming  this  way. ' ' 

The  cry  was  mounting  up.  The  figure  was  trying  to 
make  a  pathway  up  the  staircase  towards  the  Duchesse, — 
this  was  plainly  discernible. 

The  yells  of  recognition  grew  more  and  more  distinguish- 
able. Then  came  a  burst  of  uproarious  acknowledgment 
that  made  the  chandeliers  rattle. 

The  figure  sprang  forth  fully  revealed. 

There  was  another  burst  of  frantic  delight. 

127 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

It  was  a  man's  figure,  slim,  unusually  tall,  clad  in  a  silk 
maillot  of  as  many  colors  as  Joseph's  coat, — the  costume 
of  a  harlequin. 

The  name  which  detached  itself  from  the  dust  and  noise 
and  fluctuating  wave  of  motion  and  color  below  now  floated 
up  to  them  clear,  unmistakable. 

"Mariotti  !" 

' '  Notre  ami  Mariotti  !' '  let  forth  a  monk  in  a  brown 
cowl  with  a  rope  knotted  about  his  waist,  a  beard  which 
drooped  against  his  chest  like  a  twist  of  brown  fur,  and  a 
tonsured  head. 

The  name  was  caught  up  a  thousand  strong,  in  every 
shade  of  meaning,  with  every  grade  of  conviction, — doubt, 
joy,  relief,  mockery. 

' '  Mariotti,  Mariotti  !  Thou  hast  returned  to  us  then, 
again,  thou  imp  of  deviltry?"  This,  Mariotti  ! 

Where  was  the  elasticity  of  the  bounding  figure  Paris 
knew  so  well  ?  Whence  had  fled  the  reckless  audacity  of 
the  trapeze  performer  with  his  steel-trained  muscles,  his 
pranks,  his  mercurial  entity,  their  playmate,  their  toy  ? 

The  harlequin  was  an  exact  prototype  of  Mariotti ;  that 
was  incontestable.  But  this  figure  exacted  the  subservi- 
ence those  who  control  high  places  obtain  by  their  royal  air. 
His  poise,  so  supple  and  absolute,  was  that  of  a  master 
spirit,  not  a  clown.  To  be  sure,  the  movements  were  inde- 
scribable. But  the  figure  obtained  in  a  trice,  without  the 
aid  of  any  outward  sign,  the  allegiance  of  the  illustrious 
of  that  vast  throng.  It  bore  the  imprint  of  conscious 
pride  of  race.  The  larger  portion  of  the  maskers,  with 
the  affrighted  gaze  of  awe-stricken  children  gradually 
taking  umbrage  at  an  element  in  their  midst  which  was 
foreign  to  their  hitherto  interpretation  of  rollicking  joy, 
began  to  protest  loudly. 

"Art  fatigued,  Mariotti?"  asked  one, — a  lad  clad  as  a 

128 


THREE   MODERN   DROMIOS 

butterfly,  with  black  and  blue  wings,  and  antennae  which 
had  paid  their  homage  to  the  purport  of  the  night  by  tick- 
ling tortured  prayers  for  mercy  from  the  victims  of  their 
wearer's  prowess. 

"Art  ill,  Mariotti?"  This  was  a  soft,  woman's  voice  ; 
a  nun  with  a  white  kerchief  across  her  brow,  which  belied 
the  coquetry  of  the  eyes  below  it. 

' '  Art  in  love,  thou  laggard  ?' '  mocked  a  third. 

But  the  figure  pressed  on  silently. 

It  made  its  way  past  them  out  into  a  space  in  front  of 
the  staircase  when 

Were  eyes  bewildered  ?  Had  joy  degenerated  into  de- 
lirium ?  Was  the  throng  victim  of  nightmare  or  of  unbridled 
and  too  riotous  intoxication  ?  Had  their  ecstasy  of  merri- 
ment undone  them  ?  Was  this  Mariotti  ? 

If  so,  what  was  that  ? 

For  as  the  first  harlequin  set  his  rainbow- clad  instep  with 
its  black-slippered  sole  against  the  lower  step  of  the  stair- 
case, which  he  was  about  to  mount,  a  second  harlequin 
appeared  upon  the  second  landing  ;  the  counterpart  of  the 
harlequin  below. 

The  first  harlequin  gave  vent  to  an  ejaculation. 

The  second  one  stood  still. 

His  head,  upon  which  was  the  multicolored  cap  com- 
patible with  harlequin  etiquette,  seemed  quivering  with  a 
demoniacal  expression  of  conscious  deviltry. 

'Twas  almost  as  if  the  one  were  the  mirror  for  the  other. 

At  a  distance  they  looked  the  same  height.  Perhaps, 
had  the  measure  been  taken,  it  might  have  registered  the 
difference  of  half  an  inch  between  these  two  ;  no  more. 

The  first  harlequin  now  began  to  move  forward. 

Not  a  sound  from  the  breathless  silent  throng,  which  was 
craning  its  variegated  neck  towards  this  unexpected  rally  of 
innumerable  Mariottis. 

9  *29 


A   NEW    RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

Was  it  a  trick  of  their  incorrigible  trifler  ?  it  was  asked 
dumbly. 

Were  there  one  or  two  or  three  Mariottis  ? 

The  figure  above  was  to  the  figure  below  as  the  cheek  to 
the  cheek.  The  figure  below  to  the  figure  above  as  the 
eyelash  to  the  eyelash. 

The  same  graceful  form  ;  the  same  poise  ;  the  same  black 
eyes,  roving  restlessly  behind  two  slits  in  the  black  mask  : 
the  same  air  of  reserved  strength,  of  race  ;  tendons  alert : 
muscles  supple,  and  under  absolute  control. 

The  harlequin  above,  as  though  to  accentuate  his  coun- 
terpart' s  manifest  discomfiture,  executed  a  fantastic  flourish  ; 
a  mocking  inclination  to  his  double  below. 

The  harlequin  below  returned  his  salute  with  marked  em- 
phasis. Then,  with  a  shrug,  he  made  a  bound  forward, 
and  dashed  towards  his  second  self  on  the  landing  above. 

The  second  harlequin,  at  this,  moved  slowly  forward. 
He,  too,  evidently  was  desirous  of  an  encounter. 

As  they  approached  one  another  the  crowd's  hushed 
watchfulness  burst  its  bounds.  There  came  whispers,  ex- 
cited cries  ;  bets  were  exchanged  freely  as  to  either  of  the 
harlequin's  identity. 

"  'Tis  Mariotti's  double  !"  they  cried,  vociferously,  as  the 
two  harlequins  approached  one  another,  and  more  fully  ex- 
posed an  absolute  oneness  in  the  fidelity  of  their  make-up. 

The  ground  of  each  costume  was  black,  with  darts  of 
color  shot  helter-skelter  across  it,  like  jets  of  flame  woven 
into  the  stuff.  By  a  close  observer  the  costume  of  the  first 
harlequin  disclosed  itself  of  a  newer  make  than  the  some- 
what shabby  costume  of  the  second  ;  but  this  remained  un- 
noticed. The  costume  was  known  to  all  Paris  as  the  ' '  cos- 
tume Mariotti." 

"  'Tis  the  devil  and  his  shadow,"  muttered  the  attache1, 
crossing  himself. 

130 


THREE  MODERN   DROMIOS 

The  Duchesse  frowned.  Marie  Antoinette  turned  pale 
under  her  mask.  For  some  unknown  reason  her  heart- 
strings seemed  to  have  tightened. 

Folly  lifted  her  soft  arm  off  the  railing  on  which  it  had 
reclined.  She  stood  back,  fearlessly,  to  make  way  for  the 
advancing  pair. 

As  the  first  harlequin  met  the  second  on  the  landing, 
just  below  two  steps  which  remained  to  be  spanned  in  order 
to  reach  the  Duchesse,  the  second  bent  and  whispered 
three  words  in  the  first  harlequin's  ear. 

"Isitthou,  Lamballe?" 

There  was  but  an  instant's  hesitation,  unperceivable  to 
the  throng. 

Then  the  first  harlequin  let  forth  three  words, — a  phrase 
which  carried  the  weight  of  a  light  rebuke, — nothing  more. 

' '  Mariotti,  thou  clown  !' ' 

The  two  passed  on  together  towards  the  Duchesse. 

But  the  heart  of  the  second  harlequin  was  beating  furi- 
ously with  a  sense  of  triumph. 

The  first  harlequin,  being  convinced  of  his  would-be 
rival's  identity,  dismissed  the  subject,  with  an  inward  curse 
at  the  simple  fellow's  audacity. 

"If  'tis  Mariotti,  he  has,  indeed,  found  his  match," 
laughed  the  Duchesse,  with  a  marked  emphasis  on  the  if. 
She  had,  at  a  glance,  understood  the  intricate  handling  of 
this  delightful  comedy  to  be  another  proof  of  Lamballe' s 
crafty  imagination. 

As  she  extended  her  hand,  and  the  first  harlequin  bent  to 
impress  a  kiss  upon  it,  the  great  lady  and  her  vassal  ex- 
changed two  words. 
'Ferdinand?" 

"The  same." 

At  a  sign  from  the  Duchesse  he  passed  through  to  join 
the  circle  behind  her  chair. 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

The  Duchesse  now  leaned  forward,  with  a  dancing  light 
in  her  eyes,  towards  the  second  harlequin. 

She  started  back. 

Those  were  the  same  eyes,  she  thought, — was  her  mind 
a  little  confused  with  the  unexpected  developments  of  the 
night? — the  same  eyes  which  had  just  now  confronted 
hers.  Perhaps  the  black  mask  accentuated  the  similitude. 
They  were  strangely  alike,  she  thought. 

' '  Welcome  !' '  cried  the  Duchesse. 

The  second  harlequin  did  not  speak.    He  merely  bowed. 

As  he  lifted  his  head  he  looked  straight  up  into  the 
brooding  puzzled  orbs  of  that  daring  young  Folly  who  had 
elected  to  remain  outside  the  elect  circle  where  "frolic  was 
the  watchword  and  honors  were  even. ' ' 

She  retained  her  attitude  of  intent  scrutiny. 

' '  A  rarely  perfect  night, ' '  remarked  the  second  harlequin 
in  a  whisper  ;  his  masked  lips  were  close  to  her  ear  ;  "a 
night  for  leaps  in  the  dark  and  lovers'  vows.  Wilt  go  with 
me  for  a  stroll,  oh,  lady  of  beauty?"  Then,  very  low, 
"Don't  faint.  It's  Jack  !" 

Folly  gasped  audibly.  Then,  being  a  woman  and  com- 
plex, she  hurriedly  detached  a  rose  from  some  loose  ones 
she  carried  in  her  hand  and  bestowed  it  upon  her  daring 
cavalier  with  an  exaggerated  flourish,  her  contribution  to 
the  night's  masked  batteries. 

The  Duchesse' s  party  was  absorbed  with  itself.  The 
harlequin  had  been  presented  to  Marie  Antoinette.  She 
was  fanning  herself  in  stately  fashion  as  his  supple  body  in- 
clined before  her. 

When  the  Duchesse  looked  forth  in  search  of  the  pil- 
grims at  her  gate,  some  moments  afterwards,  the  second 
harlequin  had  basely  deserted  his  post,  and  Folly's  twink- 
ling heels  had  made  the  most  of  their  mistress's  daringly 
exposed  desire  to  meander. 

132 


ANOTHER   HANDICAP 
CHAPTER  XVII 

ANOTHER    HANDICAP 

THE  two  sped  on,  Folly  in  her  gown  which  bespoke  the 
mutinous  wilfulness  of  its  wearer,  the  harlequin  in  his  fanci- 
ful portrayal  of  versatile  force. 

She  had  said  one  word,  apprehensively,  "  Why?" 

He  has  answered  shortly,  ' '  Wait. ' ' 

Her  heart  beat  so  she  could  hear  it  above  the  shouting 
and  bustling  of  the  crowd,  above  the  lilt  of  the  dreamy 
waltz's  measure, — the  refrain  sounded  loud  in  her  memory 
in  after-years, — above  and  far  beyond  the  present  agony  of 
apprehension  in  her  veins. 

His  left  hand  had  fastened  upon  hers  with  a  grip  that 
made  her  shrink. 

They  stopped  at  last  in  a  secluded  corner  of  the  garden, 
a  bosquet  screened  by  a  stone  wall  covered  with  ivy.  It 
made  a  background  for  the  two  figures  which  stood  against 
it  as  individual  will  is  thrown  out  in  spite  of  itself,  at  times, 
through  the  accident  of  circumstance. 

There  was  no  sound  but  the  drip  of  the  fountain  some 
steps  away. 

An  itinerant  moonbeam  escaped  through  a  slit  in  two 
fleecy  clouds  and  made  its  way  across  her. 

Her  figure  stood  out,  in  all  its  womanish  avowal  of  co- 
quetry, triumphantly  revealed  as  perfection. 

Her  face  drooped  visibly. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  was  afraid. 

"Take  off  your  mask,"  Conway's  voice  commanded. 
The  words  came  as  though  his  vocal  chords  had  tightened 
in  a  spasmodic  stricture. 


A  NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

She  remembered,  in  a  faint,  half-thought-out  fashion, 
that  somewhere  lately  she  had  heard  those  peremptory 
words,  that  command, — under  totally  different  auspices, 
however.  She  did  not  stop  to  question  when,  or  where, 
or  from  whom.  It  had  been  a  memory  with  a  singular 
accompaniment  of  distaste  for  her.  Now  it  was  all  dif- 
ferent. 

She  lifted  her  exquisite  arms  obediently  and  unfastened 
the  clasp  from  under  her  curls. 

She  did  not  raise  her  eyes.     Somehow  she  could  not. 

He  stood  looking  at  her. 

Such  a  gaze  ! 

If  life  could  blot  up  in  an  hour  all  that  look  was  en- 
deavoring to  assimilate  in  a  second,  time  were  vain,  and 
love  a  farce. 

' '  Will  you  not  speak  to  me  ?' '  The  young  voice  was 
charged  with  a  sternly  evaded  element  of  revolt. 

It  held  the  echo  of  an  enforced  renunciation. 

She  stirred  restlessly.  She  would  have  given  her  right 
hand  just  then  to  have  dared. 

"I  ask  you,"  he  went  on,  most  miserably,  "why  you 
will  not  look  at  me  ?' ' 

Still  she  was  silent. 

Then  very  slowly — as  though  in  the  act  she  was  striving 
to  conceal  a  mortal  illness  which  was  gradually  stealing 
over  her  bit  by  bit,  she  fighting  it  inch  by  inch — she  lifted 
one  hand,  off  which  she  had  dragged  the  glove  a  moment 
before,  and  laid  it  with  its  back  across  her  tell-tale  eyes. 

The  acknowledgment  of  weakness  the  gesture  betrayed 
was  supreme. 

He  saw  a  curled,  rosy,  satin  palm  with  a  mouth  below  it 
which  might  have  been  God's  model  for  His  rosebuds, 
he  thought,  tumultuously. 

"  I  want — to — hear — you — speak." 


ANOTHER  HANDICAP 

She  knew  she  must  answer.  Her  conscience  told  her 
that  this  was  to  be  an  unequal  battle,  in  which  she  must 
fight  for  two  instead  of  for  one.  But  she  had  been  wish- 
ing for  the  sound  of  his  voice  for  forty-two  hours  ;  and  for 
one  moment  she  hesitated,  because  she  knew  that  when  she 
spoke  that  she  must  slay. 

Oh,  why  was  it  her  portion  to  undo,  to  kill,  what  seemed 
so  perilously  worth  keeping  ?  A  line  of  Browning' s  drifted 
across  her  brain.  Her  brain?  Was  it  a  brain,  or  only 
another  medium  of  the  Almighty  with  which  to  coerce 
misery?  The  lilted  words  sifted  through  her  awakened 
vanity — gold  pollen  across  a  ripening  field. 

"How  sad,  and  mad,  and  bad  it  was, 
And  yet  how  it  was  sweet." 

A  little  while, — a  very  little  while.  Just  all  her  life, 
it  seemed  to  her, — wherein  she  lived  through  a  shamed 
admission  with  a  staggering  conviction  of  its  mighty  im- 
port,— in  which  she  seemed  to  leap  with  a  bound  to  the 
right-about.  In  which  she  seemed  to  be  looking  back 
upon  a  determination  which  blasted  and  quenched.  The 
scourge  of  guilt  might  be  upon  her  unless  she  pushed  it 
off. 

Her  voice  came  haltingly.     He  bent  to  listen. 

The  words  were — oh,  the  inefficacy  of  vocabulary  with 
which  to  express  thoughts  that  must  mean  so  much  ! 

She  said,  "  I  thought  Stephen  could — trust — you.' 

That  was  all. 

The  flood-gates  had  rolled  back. 

She  was  in  the  open  sea  again,  in  her  own  boat, — 
alone, — tired  out ;  facing  a  stretch  horizonless,  colorless, 
perhaps  ;  unattainable  surely  ;  but  she  held  the  tiller. 

Her  heart  fell  on  its  knees  to  Conway,  in  supplication 
that  he  might  forgive  the  anguish  she  must — it  was  her 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

duty — cause  him.  Her  soul  lit  up  in  an  ecstasy  of  exalta- 
tion towards  her  Maker,  in  prayerful  acknowledgment  of 
a  strength  that  had  all  at  once  been  given  her. 

The  tears  gushed  into  her  eyes.  Already  her  con- 
science's penitential  pearls  were  afloat ;  but  were  they 
tears  of  relief,  or  came  they  from  an  overpowering  sense  of 
loss? 

She  turned  abruptly,  and  walked  a  little  way  from  him. 

He  was  standing  motionless,  as  though  turned  to  stone. 

"  Cowardly  !"  she  broke  forth  all  at  once.  As  though 
her  former  words  had  carved  a  way  for  her  speech,  and  she 
must  profit  off  it  as  mercilessly  as  she  dared,  she  flashed 
out,  ' '  Why  have  you  returned  ?' ' 

A  breathless  pause.     It  throbbed.     Then, — 

"  Yes  :  yes.     Ah, — hush!" 

The  abject  misery  of  the  hoarse,  boyish  voice. 

She  had  started  to  speak  again.  He  had  checked  her 
at  last. 

And  then  she  turned  and  looked  at  him. 

The  expression  of  her  face  cut  him  to  the  heart.  In  his 
mad  seizure  of  a  chance  which  he  had  come  to  believe  must 
guide  the  hand  of  fate — this  side  issue  as  the  secret  cause 
for  his  own  unbridled  temerity — his  biased  reasoning  had 
never  imagined  the  possibility  of  her  contempt.  He  had 
thought  perhaps  she,  too,  might  see  as  he  had  seen  ;  might 
think  as  he  had  thought.  She,  too  !  There  had  been 
no  evil  in  the  thought, — only  that  awful  yearning  to  see 
her  face,  to  hear  her  voice. 

Oh,  fool  !  Was  there  no  line  in  her  features  but  that 
line  of  invincible  scorn.  What  should  he  ever  do  to  ob- 
literate that  look  ?  It  would  remain  with  him  as  long  as 
life.  That  his  mad  self-love  should  have  stamped  it 
there  ! 

"  I  will  explain,"  he  began,  hoarsely. 

136 


ANOTHER   HANDICAP 

' '  Do  so, ' '  peremptorily.  The  retort  cast  on  his  repent- 
ance's  track  a  damning  stain  of  doubt. 

"  My  coming  was  imperative,"  he  ventured. 

His  pallor  was  startling.  His  features  looked  of  chiselled 
ice  as  he  stood  there  endeavoring  to  prove  he  was  not  the 
coward  she  had  elected  to  suppose. 

A  coward — he  ? 

His  inflexible  accuser — she? 

Oh,  the  pity  of  it !  The  thought  was  born,  grew,  and 
was  old,  worn,  hopeless  in  a  second, — that  she  would  never 
understand.  Cowardice  had  proved  itself  from  him  to 
her. 

Her  cold  look  was  piercing  his  sore  soul  like  a  point  of 
jagged  iron. 

"Tell  the  truth,"  she  advised  most  bitterly;  "tell  me 
the  truth."  And  as  he  hesitated,  torn  between  his  tor- 
turing self-acknowledgment  of  bitterness  new-born  and 
acute,  she  said,  ' '  You  cannot  tell  it  because  you  are  afraid. 
You  came,  because  you  could  not  remain  away. ' ' 

As  she  made  the  affirmation  with  much  bitter  apparent 
contempt,  she  knew  that  if  he  denied,  her  most  exultant 
consciousness  of  power  lay  still  forever. 

Silence. 

He  did  not  deny.  He  did  not  confirm.  She  had  turned 
her  eyes  away  as  though  he  were  unworthy  for  them  to  rest 
upon.  At  least  so  he  translated  it. 

In  reality  she  was  almost  beside  herself  at  the  havoc  she 
seemed,  with  each  cruel  word,  to  impose. 

' '  I  came, ' '  he  blurted  out,  ' '  to  find  Lamballe.  I 
had  reason  to  believe  he  was  in  Paris.  It  was  a  thing 
which  must  be  verified, — one  way  or  the  other.  The 
knowledge,"  monotonously,  blind  fury  growing  apace  in 
him  that  she  would  not  believe,  ' '  will  aid  our  cause 
mightily." 

137 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

Just  the  same  distant  expression  of  polite  incredulity  on 
the  fair  face  which  had  once  been  so  winsome  and  bonny 
for  him  and  every  one. 

' '  And  your  curiosity  has  been  gratified  ?' ' 

The  meaning  her  tone  conveyed  was  clear.  She  did  not 
believe  him. 

All  at  once  he  went  a  little  mad,  the  way  men  do  when 
young  and  hopeless,  towards  the  woman  who  enjoys  tor- 
menting them.  He  strode  forward,  and  clutched  her  hand 
in  his  with  a  fierce  clutch  which  made  her  gasp.  She  did 
not  cry  out.  She  bore.  She  felt  this  might,  in  some 
slight  measure,  offset  her  seeming  cruelty.  Would  he 
ever  recognize  she  had  been  kind  to  him  ?  His  face  was 
close  to  hers,  close,  closer.  His  breath  was  against  her 
cheek.  She  felt  the  powerful  young  figure  against  her 
gown. 

She  struggled  a  little.     Then  she  was  very  still. 

If  it  were  a  battle  of  anything  but  spirit  she  might  lose, 
she  thought. 

' '  When  you  have  done, ' '  broke  forth  her  stinging  voice, 
finally,  ' '  I  will  tell  you  why  you  are  here. ' ' 

He  let  her  hand  fall  with  a  moan. 

"  You  came  because  you  wished  to  see — me,"  con- 
tinued the  merciless  voice.  The  words  beat  on  his  lis- 
tening senses  like  hammers  on  a  gaping  wound. 

"Well?"  he  returned,  doggedly. 

He  had  lifted  his  head.  He  was  confronting  her  boldly. 
The  shame  over  the  mad  course  he  had  chosen  had  gone 
out  for  him,  swallowed  up  in  a  mighty  recognition  of  her 
incarnate  cruelty.  He  hoped,  bitterly,  it  did  her  good  to 
say  those  hateful  words.  He  knew  they  hurt  him  mor- 
tally. He  did  not  seek  to  vindicate  himself.  His  heart's 
secret  was  revealed  in  one  word.  She  had  spoken  the 
truth.  Why,  longer,  deny  it  ? 

138 


ANOTHER   HANDICAP 

"  It  was  cowardly,"  she  said. 

She  knew  no  other  word,  possibly,  he  thought,  in  a 
dazed  fashion.  Why  so  ?  Well !  Perhaps  the  term  was 
just.  It  was,  too,  conclusive. 

As  a  final  effort  she  now  replaced  her  mask  with  shaking 
fingers. 

He  did  not  know  it ;  but  she  knew  she  was  locking  in, 
until  some  blessed  period  when  she  could  think  things  out, 
the  tears,  the  sense  of  guilt,  the  rest.  All  the  rest.  She 
would  have  time  to  take  it  out  some  day  and  think  it  well 
over,  she  thought. 

He  swept  her  from  head  to  foot  with  a  look  which  made 
her  turn  cold  ;  a  glance  which,  in  its  crude  acceptation  of 
her  final  decree,  she  had  not  preimagined. 

"  To  prove  that  what  you  say  is  untrue  I  will  leave  you 
to-night  forever, ' '  he  said,  in  a  dull,  monotonous  voice,  she 
had  never  heard  before  from  him. 

She  started  involuntarily.  How  glad  she  was  of  her 
mask, — how  glad  !  For  her  lips  were  stiffening  against 
her  will.  ' '  What  heroics  are  these  ?' '  came  to  her  out  of 
her  store  of  platitudes.  But  she  did  not  voice  them.  In- 
stead she  waited  apprehensively.  ' '  Forever, ' '  she  thought, 
lamely,  gropingly,  ' '  is  a  long  time. ' ' 

' '  I  will  never  see  you  again, ' '  continued  the  young  voice 
with  its  burden  of  impotent  despair.  ' '  Will  you  bid  me 
God-speed  ?' ' 

She  laughed. 

He  could  scarcely  believe  his  ears.  Then  he  thought 
this  must  be  another  form  of  chastisement, — a  forefend  of 
unmistakable  expiation.  He  had  made  a  false  step.  He 
must  abide  by  the  consequences.  Other  men  had. 

"  I  bid  you  to  come  no  more,"  she  ejaculated,  with  an- 
other wild  laugh.  "  You  must  have  been  mad  to  have 
come  at  all." 

139 


A   NEW    RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

' '  Am  I  mad  ?' '  he  returned  instantly,  in  a  famished, 
stifled  tone, — there  came  a  dull  thudding  in  her  ears;  she 
seemed  to  be  beating  it  off  with  her  thoughts, — "  am  I  mad 
to  wish  to  bid  so  sweet  a  thing  as  you  good-by  ?' ' 

' '  Oh,  go  !' '  she  cried. 

The  place  was  slipping  from  her — with  him.  She 
stooped  and  gathered  up  a  corner  of  her  skirt  with  one 
hand, — anything  to  start  the  blood  which  seemed  to  be 
coagulating  in  her  veins ;  the  mesh  had  caught  in  a 
rose-bush  which  stood  near  surrounded  by  palms  and 
plants. 

"It  is  well, ' '  she  said,  softly,  slowly,  and  very  dis- 
tinctly. 

But  with  all  the  clearness  of  her  words  there  lay,  along- 
side of  her  summing  up,  so  evident  a  weight  of  conscious 
woe  that  for  the  moment  his  heart  bounded,  just  for  one 
ecstatic  second.  Then  he  spoke. 

' '  It  was  weak, ' '  he  admitted,  tentatively. 

' '  More, ' '  from  her,  mercilessly. 

"It  was  dastardly, — a  subterfuge."  He  knew  in  his 
heart  that  the  subterfuge  had  been  hardly  equivalent  to  the 
emergency  which  had  induced  it ;  but  he  was  thinking 
that,  so  long  as  she  thus  cruelly  misjudged  his  ulterior  mo- 
tive, he  would  not  withdraw  from  one  iota  of  his  merited 
chastisement. 

"There  is  always,  Stephen ,"  she  broke  forth,  ab- 
ruptly. Aye.  There  was  the  rub.  ' '  Otherwise 

"  But  I  was  human,"  he  pleaded,  lamely,  huskily. 

"Oh — that!"  Words  evidently  failed  his  judge  with 
which  to  advocate  wisdom  in  case  of  a  subsequent  de- 
plorable, like  weakness. 

"Good-by,"  she  added  very  low,  as  if  by  rote,  me- 
chanically. 

He  began  hoarsely  again,  "I  hope  you  will  remem- 

140 


ANOTHER   HANDICAP 

ber, ' '  he  said,  ' '  I  would  not  have  caused  you  pain  for  all 
the  world." 

' '  Oh,  why  did  you  come  ?' '  she  cried,  in  a  strangled, 
unguided  voice. 

There  was  a  pause. 

"I  think,"  he  answered,  as  if  he  had  not  heard  her, 
— his  conscience  was  awakening  to  the  touch  of  a  groping 
thought  which  once  his  will  had  bowed  to  somewhere — this 
sense  of  slack — as  the  opportunity  out  of  which  to  prove 
himself  a  man  or  a  knave, — "if  I  do  not  return,  some 
day  you  will  forget  I  was  a  coward  once  ?' ' 

She  did  not  answer. 

One  hand  of  hers  was  wringing  the  other  in  helpless 
fashion  among  the  folds  of  her  gown. 

He  drew  himself  up  with  the  old  familiar  movement  of 
unalterable  resolve.  He  had  turned  from  her,  after  a  flash- 
ing glance  in  which  he  had  striven  to  imprint  the  record  of 
her,  body  and  soul,  on  his  abnormally  illuminated  memory. 

The  little  figure  that  was  not  his, — that  never  could 
be  ;  the  creamy  arms  ;  the  neck  full- chested,  with  all  its 
royal  promise  of  maturity  fulfilled,  the  outline  of  a  woman- 
liness unmistakable. 

He  looked  out  ahead  with  a  curious  light  in  his  eyes, — 
out  past  something  she  could  not  see.  Was  it  the  phan- 
tom of  the  to-come  ?  Was  it  the  forerunner  of  his  mortal 
pain  ? 

She  could  not  tell.  Dumbly,  blindly,  hopelessly,  she 
could  not  tell.  She  must  not  ask. 

She  saw  the  dauntless  face  with  its  Spanish  coloring  im- 
pregnated by  an  alarming  pallor ;  it  seemed  to  her  that  she 
had  imprinted  it  there.  She  saw  the  young  figure  in  all  its 
manly  beauty.  She  knew  its  reckless  energy,  its  over- 
powering sense  of  what  was  right  and  just. 

Yes — just ! 

141 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

' '  Good-by,  love, ' '  he  whispered,  loudly,  sharply,  with  a 
queer  blind  gesture,  as  though  putting  gently  away  from 
him  forever  the  right  to  his  soul's  happiness. 

Then  her  will  broke  up. 

With  a  helpless,  choked  cry,  supreme  in  its  confession  of 
abject  abandon,  she  ran  forward. 

He  was  gone. 

She  tore  off  her  mask.  Her  face,  blistered,  outspoken, 
betrayed  the  disorder  her  own  unguarded  vanity  had  sown, 
and  would  reap. 

With  an  infinitely  weary  gesture  she  slipped,  like  a 
shadow,  to  the  ground. 

Was  it  an  hour  later  ?  She  did  not  know.  Gradually 
the  cool  drip  of  the  fountain  surged  in  again  ;  the  distant 
sound  of  waltz  music  ;  memory  ;  reason.  She  dragged 
herself  to  her  feet. 

Folly  !     That  was  her  name. 

Her  eyes  had  fallen  on  her  corsage  with  its  display  of 
magnificent  gems  ;  upon  the  soft  flesh  above  it. 

Then  it  all  came  back  to  her. 

He  would  never  know.  It  had  been  heart  hunger ;  she 
had  reached  out.  He  had  misunderstood.  What  a  tangle 
life  was  ! 

And  Stephen  ? 

Oh,  God— God  ! 

Her  duty  came  towards  her  as  though  out  of  a  mist. 
She  must  put  away  from  her  the  forceful,  the  free  ;  and  ac- 
cept, in  its  stead,  a  reluctant  makeshift  named  ' '  affection. ' ' 

She  rose  painfully.  She  pushed  her  hair  off  her  temples 
with  trembling  fingers.  Then,  her  eyes  wistful,  her  hands 
reaching  out  as  though  feeling  their  way  through  the  dark, 
she  went  forward  towards  the  rollicking  maskers  in  the  ball- 
room beyond. 


142 


A   RETROSPECT 
i 

CHAPTER  XVIII 

A    RETROSPECT 

' '  I  HAD  scarcely  hoped  to  be  accorded  so  rich  a  privi- 
lege," murmured  Lamballe,  bending  over  the  hand  ex- 
tended to  him  by  Marie  Antoinette,  subsequent  to  the 
Duchesse's  presentation. 

The  recipient  of  his  marked  compliment  merely  inclined 
her  head  silently  in  response. 

She  was  striving  to  locate  the  speaker' s  voice.  It  seemed, 
to  her,  to  possess  a  strain  foreign  to  her  chosen  mental  atti- 
tude of  perfunctory  courtesy.  Where  had  she  heard  those 
tones  with  their  ring  of  command  before  ?  What  theme  did 
they  convey  which,  augmented  by  a  commonplace,  struck 
from  her  guarded  heart's  profoundest  depths  an  answering 
chord  ? 

The  sensation  contained  an  unpleasant  element  of  per- 
tinacity. 

Mrs.  Conway  was  a  woman  who  contemplated  life  un- 
flinchingly. The  time  was  past,  she  considered,  when  she 
might  expect ;  the  folly  of  striving  to  live  over  again  in 
her  maturity  the  tumults  and  protests  of  her  youth  she 
relegated,  through  unusual  dignity  of  character,  to  a  recess 
upon  which  she  bestowed  scant  attention.  She  was  not, 
like  the  Duchesse,  grandly  benevolent.  Neither  did  she 
live  with  the  expressed  intention  of  deriving  the  noblest 
interpretation  from  all  things.  Her  wit  was  too  keen  to 
permit  her  to  ignore  the  justice  of  retribution,  her  critical 
acumen  too  discriminating  not  to  acknowledge  shadow  as 
much  as  sunshine.  Her  will  had  been  efficacious  in  obtain- 
ing for  her  her  present  uniquely  exalted  position  in  society  ; 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

but  her  tact  had  done  more.  Her  wealth  she  recog- 
nized had  been  largely  instrumental,  too,  in  commanding 
place. 

After  long  years  of  contact  with  the  best  intellect  and 
talent  of  her  generation  she  did  not  pose  as  a  lover  of 
humanity. 

Rather  as  a  receptor,  who  obscured  her  private  opinion 
with  discreet  platitudes,  and  retained  her  individual  creed 
without  disclosing  its  tenets.  It  had  even  been  said  by 
persons  who  boasted  of  intimacy  with  her  that  Mrs.  Con- 
way  contemplated  life,  and  human  nature,  with  disdain. 
But  this  would  have  been  difficult  to  reconcile  with  her  atti- 
tude of  acquired  calm.  She  was  fond  of  saying  that  she 
derived  benefit  as  well  as  amusement  from  the  social  world's 
frequentation.  To  her  son,  who  had  unconsciously  made  a 
study  of  this  being  who,  up  to  a  few  weeks  since,  had  ex- 
emplified his  ideal  of  womanhood,  the  fundamental  key- 
note of  her  character — that  character  which  is  the  output 
of  most  high-bred  women  after  thirty,  a  recreation  com- 
posed of  prejudices  invoked,  illusions  destroyed,  and  ideals 
reorganized — was  scepticism. 

Mrs.  Conway's  moods  were  as  evanescent  as  the  tints  in 
a  mass  of  shifting  sands.  The  sceptical  note  was  the  note 
with  which  her  son  could  never  be  patient.  It  gently  and 
firmly  proclaimed  a  consciousness  of  superior  judgment 
which  fretted  his  vanity.  He  disliked  it,  too,  because  it 
seemed  the  element  which  summarily  established  a  barrier 
between  him  and  his  best  friend.  He  did  not  realize  it  to 
be  an  outcome  of  that  substitute  for  happiness  known  as 
resignation,  a  thing  acquired  by  patience  and  pain  born  of 
inevitable  contact  with  transitory  issues. 

He  felt  it  when  the  sapphire  eyes  were  lifted  to  his  with 
a  faint  suspicion  of  quizzical  amusement  in  their  depths. 
It  had  checked  his  confidences  more  than  once.  But  when 

144 


A   RETROSPECT 

he  endeavored  to  force  it  into  more  conspicuous  being,  it 
faded  out  as  if  a  strong  hand  had  quenched  it  with  tried 
power. 

This  characteristic  he  considered  a  flaw  in  his  mother's 
perfect  nature,  which  he  worshipped  as  nineteenth  century- 
ana  seldom  worships  its  progenitor. 

He  objected  to  it  because  it  seemed  to  him  a  proof  that 
the  bloom  of  her  ideal  had,  in  some  mysterious  manner, 
been  damaged,  once,  away  off  in  a  past  that  he  might  not 
fathom.  If  he  overestimated  his  mother's  conquest  of 
philosophy,  she  permitted  it.  Being  a  woman  of  her  gener- 
ation, she  was  nothing  loath  to  shine  resplendently  for  a  time 
in  the  white  light  of  her  only  child's  approval. 

She  knew  that  in  this  her  time  would  be  short.  That 
there  would  come  the  comparisons  which  betray  the  natural 
law  of  evolution  :  that  the  child  is  invariably  the  judge  of 
the  parent.  She  thought  that  by  that  bitter  time  her  scepti- 
cism, faint  and  guarded  as  it  was,  must  explain  itself  to  him 
without  her  aid.  She  waited. 

That  acquired  note  had  done  so  much  for  her.  It 
was  the  offshoot  from  an  inner  consciousness  which  would 
not  be  stilled.  It  was  her  shield  between  her  heart  and 
the  world's  prying  eyes  and  merciless  judgments.  She 
fenced  with  it  lightly,  gracefully,  the  world  seldom  sus- 
pecting itself  of  being  the  object  of  her  almost  impercepti- 
ble scorn.  It  enabled  her  to  look  impersonally,  as  she 
thought,  at  both  sides  of  any  question  without  committing 
herself  to  either.  It  was  her  hard  note.  But  she  rejoiced 
over  it.  It  had  been  long  in  growing,  shaping,  taking  its 
stand. 

It  was  made  up  of  revolt,  misery,  and  lacerated  senti- 
ment. A  poor  solution  this,  perhaps,  of  a  force  which  she 
refused  to  allow  to  dominate  her.  But  the  scepticism  acted 
as  a  check  in  many  instances,  and  was  a  distinct  feature  now, 

10  145 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

— an  echo  of  that  past  which,  with  such  unflagging  dili- 
gence, she  concealed. 

She  was  accused  of  coldness.  She  never  attempted  to 
deny  the  impeachment.  Rather  she  welcomed  such  a  con- 
clusion, with  devout  thankfulness  that  her  role  was  so  well 
played  it  had  assumed  a  natural  expression, — so  natural  that 
none  suspected  her  to  be  the  leading  lady  in  the  drama ; 
simply  one  of  the  on-lookers. 

Society  teaches  an  equivocation  of  realities,  an  expression 
of  complete  satisfaction,  a  more  or  less  rank  example  of  the 
instinct  of  self-preservation.  So  that  when  the  harlequin 
addressed  Mrs.  Conway  in  a  voice  which  set  all  the  bells 
ringing  in  a  corner  of  her  soul  which  she  thought  grown 
over,  this  woman  of  the  world,  true  to  her  colors  to  deny 
anything  so  complicated  as  an  emotion,  fenced  with  the  feel 
of  it,  denied  the  chimes,  and  uttered  a  commonplace  in 
return. 

She  supposed  her  interlocutor  to  be  some  friend  of  the 
Duchesse,  a  notability  without  doubt,  since  he  had  been  so 
courteously  requested  to  join  their  select  circle. 

"Why  a  harlequin?"  she  questioned,  with  a  gesture 
designating  the  costume  worn  by  her  interlocutor.  And 
then  her  voice  died  out  ;  a  great  astonishment  crept  over 
her  with  the  acknowledgment  that  their  consternation  was 
mutual. 

What  strange  effect  was  this  which  her  mild  response  had 
produced  upon  her  companion  ? 

He  was  visibly  confused. 

If  Mrs.  Conway  had  not  witnessed  his  manner  she  would 
have  gainsaid  the  assertion  that  her  simple  phrase  could 
have  produced  so  extraordinary  a  result. 

She  glanced  at  the  Duchesse. 

To  her  surprise  she  was,  with  undisguised  anxiety,  watch- 
ing the  effect  of  her  friend's  words  upon  the  harlequin. 

146 


A   RETROSPECT 

Mrs.  Conway  could  not  believe  her  eyes. 

Emotions  are  communicative.  Her  heart  began  to  beat 
in  wild  thuds,  such  as  it  had  not  experienced  for  years. 

The  harlequin  had  collected  himself  mechanically.  He 
stood  still. 

The  eyes  behind  his  black  mask  gleamed  strangely,  as 
though  striving  with  all  their  might  to  pierce  their  neigh- 
bor's disguise. 

Mrs.  Conway,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  became  comfortably 
aware  of  her  mask.  Her  heart  beat  regularly  as  she  spoke 
again. 

She  repeated  her  question,  permitting  a  faint  cynicism  to 
pervade  it.  "  Probably  a  Frenchman,"  she  was  thinking, 
ironically,  ' '  in  consequence,  unduly  responsive. ' '  Even  in 
her  secret  heart  she  sternly  clung  to  a  dislike  for  the  Latin 
race  superinduced  by  long  ago  circumstance.  "Why  a 
harlequin,"  she  demanded  aloud,  "unless  the  disguise 
conceals  a  spirit  as  many-sided  as  your  variegated  costume 
claims?" 

Why,  she  was  thinking  to  herself  irritably,  make  so 
serious  a  matter  out  of  a  mere  shadow  of  memory,  in  this 
night  which  the  Duchesse  had  promised  should  bear  as  close 
as  possible  a  resemblance  to  the  mirthful  epoch  they  had 
enjoyed  together  years  ago  ? 

His  answer  came  slowly.     It  was  fraught  with  acerbity. 

"The  human  being,  man  or  woman,"  said  he,  "who 
strives  to  be  all  that  is  required  of  him,  all  the  characters 
his  friends  and  comrades  ascribe  to  him,  all  the  feelings  he 
conceals,  all  the  emotions  he  refutes,  all  the  joys  he  denies, 
must  needs  be  a  harlequin,  indeed." 

There  was  food  for  thought  to  be  read  between  the  lines. 
The  insinuation  pricked  Mrs.  Conway' s  retaliative  faculty. 

1 '  You  admit  the  heart  of  man  capable  of  change  then, 
Monsieur  Harlequin, ' '  she  retorted,  lightly.  ' '  You  are 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

broader  than  most.  Until  now  the  world  has  been  led  to 
presume  that  woman,  and  woman  solely,  possesses  the  fac- 
ulty of  infidelity." 

"  Madame  were  less  than  a  queen  did  she  renounce  her 
prerogative  to  jest,"  stated  the  harlequin,  with  more  ear- 
nestness than  the  burden  of  his  speech  warranted.  ' '  Does 
she  believe  that  man  or  woman  changes  ?  I,  for  one,  deny 
it.  Character,  that  is  worthy  of  the  name,  lasts  !  '  Time 
changes  ?  Potter  and  clay  endure. '  '  He  was  quoting  a 
line  from  a  great  English  poet. 

This  was  an  anomaly,  indeed.  A  Parisian  with  a  cosmo- 
politan education  was  a  novel  departure,  thought  Mrs. 
Conway. 

She  smiled  delightedly  under  her  mask.  This  curious 
being  had  pointed  his  clean-cut  speech  directly  at  her.  She 
had  been  less  than  a  woman  had  her  vanity  not  been  flat- 
tered. She  was  silent. 

She  became  conscious — sturdily  aware  as  she  was  at  one 
and  the  same  time  of  the  brilliant  scene  about  her  with  its 
multitudinous  suggestions,  its  fascinating  toss  of  color,  the 
couples  whirling  on  the  floor  below  in  the  mad  abandon  of 
the  waltz,  festive,  fantastic — of  an  environment  which  she 
thought  her  memory  had  disowned,  through  the  cogency 
of  her  vigilant  will,  forever. 

The  environment  comprised  a  mental  mirage, — a  forest 
through  which  the  sun  shot  in  bars  of  molten  gold.  The 
tender  trees  stood  forth  lightly  in  their  perfect  garniture  of 
spring  green.  It  was  morning,  fresh,  new-born.  The  grass- 
blades  trembled,  dew-stained,  from  the  kiss  of  a  light,  per- 
fumed wind.  There  was  an  indescribable  fragrance  of 
pushing  buds,  blossoms  being  caressed  from  nestling  sleep 
to  wakening  courage,  and  with  it  all — words  !  Fiery,  im- 
petuous, passion-fraught,  telling  a  love-story  old  as  time 
and  sweet  as  youth. 

148 


A  RETROSPECT 

She  saw  the  stretch  of  years  between  this  and  that  ;  a 
long,  colorless  blank  with  only  one  glad  figure  in  it, — her 
boy.  She  felt  the  old  glamour  well  up  and  cry  out. 
Once  more  came  the  love  of  conquest ;  the  desire  for 
appreciation  ;  the  disdain  of  everything  but  her  heart's 
chosen  god.  She  pressed  it  back  again — a  second  habit 
— uncompromisingly.  But  it  surged  up  as  a  weed  floats 
to  the  top  of  a  summer  sea,  and  looks  through  helplessly 
at  the  blue  sky  above, — between  it  and  heaven  only  a 
volatile  circumstance. 

Through  a  subtle  force  inexplicable — either  from  a  famil- 
iar strain  in  the  voice  which  had  addressed  her,  or  because 
Marguerite  de  Launoy  sat  there  again  by  her  side  contem- 
plating her  with  the  same  kind,  understanding  eyes  with 
which  she  had  gazed,  when  a  young  widow,  at  her  friend's 
conquests,  or  by  right  of  some  plea  hushed  or  unlistened 
to  which  sprang  to  life  now,  long  after  she  considered  it 
buried  and  done  with — a  forked  consciousness  grew  apace, 
defying  will,  betraying  rank  growth, — a  power  which  would 
not  be  stilled  nor  smothered. 

Side  by  side  she  saw  the  girl  she  had  been  and  the 
woman  she  was. 

The  thought  grew  and  strengthened. 

She  saw  a  child  with  life's  morning  in  her  eyes  and  soul ; 
glad,  eager ;  possessed  of  all  the  pitiful  sophistry  of  the 
unformed  and  receptive. 

She  saw,  again,  a  woman,  carrying  the  burden  of  an 
unflinching  resolve, — to  shield  her  secretly  invincible  pain 
at  any  cost :  the  pain  of  having  been  despised — and  for- 
saken. 

Had  her  interpretation  been  a  wise  one  ?  She  could  not 
tell.  She  only  knew  she  had  been  sadly  young  to  have  had 
her  hopes  so  ruthlessly  denied,  her  heart  so  wantonly  be- 
trayed. 

149 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

He  had  left  her.  He  had  not  returned.  There  had  been 
no  word. 

Then  she  had  confronted  the  long  stretch  of  years,  and 
had  been  afraid.  She  had  accepted  an  apology  for  happi- 
ness instead  of  clinging  to  her  girlish  faith  that  each  man 
or  woman  has  the  right  to  genuineness. 

She  had  ignored  the  truth  that  there  is  nothing  between 
weakness  and  strength. 

She  had  been  afraid  to  live  alone,  unguided,  beautiful  no 
longer,  unsought ;  reluctant  to  watch  her  beauty  ebb  out 
unplucked  ;  fearful  of  that  sense  of  loss  which  drained  her 
joy-duct  diurnally  with  diligence  and  pertinacity  ;  averse  to 
acknowledge  the  wound  of  an  abused  pride  which  made 
her  despise  herself. 

So  she  had  married.  Without  a  sense,  until  too  late,  of 
the  gravity  of  the  vows  she  had  taken  upon  herself.  Only 
as  a  distraction. 

She  had  thought  her  dream  would  fade.  But  gradually 
she  came  to  know  that  the  more  she  fought  against  it  the 
more  it  augmented.  It  afforded  her  material  everlasting  for 
comparison, — a  comparison  which  dulled  the  present  and 
fired  the  past.  As  the  faces  of  the  dead  assume  to  the 
living  a  majesty  which  they  have  never  borne  in  life  ;  as 
the  inequalities  of  character  fade  with  tender  memory's 
allegiance  to  beauty,  so  her  dream,  in  spite  of  her,  had 
ever  remained  a  distinct  reality.  It  contained  a  revulsion 
of  feeling  which  she  had  striven  vainly  to  defeat.  It  pos- 
sessed, too,  the  conviction  that  Ferdinand  Lamballe  had 
been  her  heart's  affinity,  and  none  other.  This  in  spite  of 
his  cruelly  inexplicable  conduct. 

And  she  was  old. 

The  past  had  come  ebbing  back  with  the  insistence  of  a 
child's  voice  or  a  bird's  song  to  remind  her  that  her  chance 
of  happiness  had  fled. 

15° 


UNMASKED 

She  had  thought  herself  numb.  She  !  Her  day  was  past. 
Like  so  many  others,  she  had  had  her  opportunity,  and 
missed  it,  through  no  fault  of  her  own.  She  had  wished  to 
grasp  a  rose.  Instead,  her  soul  had  encompassed  a  thorn 
which  tore  her  spirit's  flesh  and  lacerated  it,  and,  at  last, 
sickened  her. 

Had  it  seemed  as  pure  as  milk  and  honey  because  it  had 
proved  futile  ? 

She  could  not  tell. 

She  only  knew  that  she  had  loved.     And  she  had  lost 


CHAPTER    XIX 

UNMASKED 

"THERE  is  a  favor  I  wish  to  ask  of  you,"  broke  forth 
the  Duchesse.  "It  is  that  all  of  you,  my  dear  friends, 
will  remain  to  sup  with  me.  We  will  unmask.  '  ' 

'  '  Happy  thought  !'  '  responded  the  harlequin. 

He,  too,  had  been  silent,  dimly  conscious  of  a  wave  of 
feeling  which  was  threatening  to  engulf  him.  But  his  im- 
agination had  discovered  no  solution  of  his  inward  disturb- 
ance. That  indescribable  sensation  stood  stripped  of  any- 
thing but  the  immeasurable  longing  that  his  neighbor 
might  speak  once  more. 

At  a  sign  from  the  Duchesse  the  little  group  now  rose, 
and  made  way  for  itself  through  the  ranks  of  waltzers 
and  maskers  towards  a  supper-room  below,  decked  out  in 
garlands  of  roses.  They  drooped  from  a  crown  in  the 
middle  of  the  apartment  surmounted  by  the  de  Launoy 
crest  to  the  four  corners  of  the  room,  where  they  were 
caught  up  with  tufts  of  feathery  ferns. 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

As  they  passed  the  Duchesse  drew  Mrs.  Conway  into 
her  private  apartment,  ostensibly  to  remove  her  mask. 

As  it  was  lifted,  and  the  sapphire  eyes  were  revealed, — 
oddly  melancholy  eyes  those  for  the  orbs  of  a  reigning 
sovereign, — the  Duchesse  spoke. 

"  I  crave  your  forgiveness,  dear  friend,  for  a  scheme  of 
which  I  have  been  guilty,"  she  began,  agitatedly  con- 
cerned with  the  message  her  remark  conveyed. 

"  A  '  scheme'  ?' '  The  reiteration  was  politely  inquisi- 
tive. 

' '  I  feel  like  a  conspirator  ;  but  it  seemed  there  was  no 
other  way,"  continued  the  Duchesse,  impetuously.  "My 
intentions  were  of  the  best,  although  they  may,  in  the  light 
of  subsequent  events,  appear  to  the  contrary. ' ' 

Mrs.  Conway  permitted  a  bewildered  expression  to  flit 
across  her  features.  ' '  Continue, ' '  she  begged.  She 
looked  at  the  Duchesse  with  a  set  expression  which  har- 
bored an  apprehension. 

1 '  Madeleine,  what  would  you  think  if  I  told  you  that 
to-night  I  had  purposely  brought  you  into  contact  with  an 
old  friend?" 

"A  friend?"  with  the  old,  faint  scepticism. 

' '  Surely, ' '  confided  the  Duchesse,  " '  a  friend. '  Perhaps 
I  have  been  unwise  in  assuming  so  great  a  responsibility 
without  consulting  either  you  or  your  inclination  ;  but  I 
felt  that  possibly  the  years  which  have  intervened  might 
have  softened  for  you  and  him  the  memories  which  must 
lie  between." 

"Him!" 

The  word  was  breathed,  not  spoken.  The  blue  eyes, 
with  their  limitless  pellucid  depths,  were  wide,  startled, 
fearful.  The  head,  with  its  crown  of  snow-white  hair,  was 
lifted  like  a  stag  that  hears  the  approach  of  her  assassin 
through  the  underbrush. 

152 


UNMASKED 

' '  Ferdinand  Lamballe. ' '  The  voice  was  the  Duchesse'  s, 
clear,  forceful. 

There  was  no  sound  save  the  distant  hum  of  the  throng 
some  rooms  away. 

Then  Mrs.  Conway  spoke.  A  quiver  had  passed  across 
her  features.  Her  lips  were  so  dry  they  hardly  let  forth 
her  words  distinctly. 

"A  cousin, — or  nephew,  perhaps?" 

She  was  willing,  with  a  wonderful  calm  born  of  the 
moment's  desperate  pain,  that  her  heart's  weakness  should 
not  betray  her  at  this  supreme  test.  She  had  heard  that 
name  often  within  the  past  few  weeks  ;  and  she  had  steeled 
herself  to  hear  it  without  giving  evidence  of  the  tortured 
valve  it  set  swinging.  In  the  last  two  months'  mercurial 
evolutions,  necessitating  a  change  of  home,  of  views,  of 
substances,  that  memorable  name  had  been  mentioned  more 
than  once,  both  by  her  son  and  Stephen  Markoe.  She 
supposed  it  an  accidental  similarity  of  nomenclature.  The 
real  Ferdinand  Lamballe  for  years  she  had  thought — she 
could  not  have  told  why — dead. 

' '  Neither  a  cousin  nor  a  nephew, ' '  replied  the  Duchesse, 
instantly,  with  emphasis.  ' '  The  same  Ferdinand  Lam- 
balle, Madeleine,  whom  you  and  I  knew  when  we  were 
young. ' ' 

"Young!     Yes." 

They  were  only  two  words,  but  the  Duchesse' s  eyes 
filled. 

The  utterance  was  a  complete  revelation  of  the  quenched 
anguish  of  a  woman's  heart. 

' '  Have  I  been  imprudent  ?"  asked  the  Duchesse,  moving 
forward  to  take  in  hers  her  friend's  two  hands.  One  of 
them — pitifully  enough — had  stretched  forth  to  steady 
itself  against  a  neighboring  fauteuil. 

"Imprudent!     Why?" 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

There  was  to  be  no  withdrawal  from  the  heroic  role — she 
had  played  it  so  well  until  now — of  indifference,  of  disdain. 

"I  thought,  perhaps,"  ventured  the  Duchesse, — how 
pathetic  was  Madeleine  Conway's  haughty  face  in  its  effort 
to  hold  back  its  story! — "I  thought  that  you  might 
suffer." 

She  said  the  word  deliberately  ;  conscious  that,  to  be 
kind,  she  must  strike  home. 

Her  daring  did  its  work — to  rouse. 

Mrs.  Conway,  with  decision  largely  composed  of  reserve, 
drew  a  little  away  from  her  friend  with  an  indescribable  ex- 
pression. 

"Suffer,"  she  repeated  slowly,  still  wearing  her  air  of 
ironical  scepticism.  ' '  Ferdinand  Lamballe  ?  Suffer  !' ' 

The  Duchesse  could  not  tell  whether  the  word  registered 
a  confirmation  or  quite  otherwise. 

She  was  silent. 

Then  she  stepped  across  the  room  to  ring  and  give  an 
order. 

When  this  had  been  accomplished,  and,  some  ten  min- 
utes later,  she  turned  towards  the  regal  presence  in  its 
Marie  Antoinette  robes,  the  sapphire  eyes  were  cold,  the 
expression  was,  as  usual,  calm. 

Mrs.  Conway  was  herself  again. 

They  wended  their  way  through  the  crowded  halls  by  a 
path  made  for  them  by  a  domestic  attired  in  the  de  Launoy 
liveries.  After  being  thus  piloted  through  numerous  pas- 
sage-ways, they  finally  were  ushered  into  the  Duchesse' s 
private  supper-room. 

The  apartment  was  already  occupied  by  the  members  of 
that  select  circle  Marguerite  de  Launoy  had  purposely 
gathered  around  her  for  the  feast  to  come. 

The  Princess  was  chatting  with  Lamballe,  under  a  cluster 
of  lights  in  one  corner  of  the  room.  She  was  a  woman  who 


UNMASKED 

had  roused  even  the  Pope's  admiration  by  her  audacity, 
her  frank  interest  in  cosmopolitan  issues,  and  a  taste  in 
dress  which,  years  before,  had  become  proverbial. 

The  English  Ambassador  was  exchanging  ponderous 
efforts  at  repartee  with  a  feminine  compatriot  who  had 
recently  made  her  mark  in  London  literary  circles  through 
an  onslaught  upon  matrimony, — an  attack  which  she  refused 
to  retract  with  all  the  delightful  inconsistency  of  a  pretty 
woman  with  a  mission, — which  she  might,  or  might  not, 
substantiate. 

' '  You  push  the  plank  from  under  our  feet, ' '  the  Ambas- 
sador was  saying,  plaintively,  ' '  and  you  give  us  nothing  to 
take  its  place.  How  like  a  woman  !" 

' '  Is  it  not  ?' '  blandly  returned  the  new  authoress  of  ways 
and  means  hitherto  undreamt  of  in  even  her  own  philos- 
ophy, with  an  inconsequence  which  savored  of  superfi- 
ciality. She  had  a  complexion  of  milk  and  roses,  forget- 
me-not  eyes,  and  an  enchanting  expression  of  innocence. 
If  her  matrimonial  experiences,  which  were  said  to  be  hope- 
lessly entangled,  had  crowded  out  her  deductive  faculty,  the 
result  was  quite  inevitable,  considering. 

"  I  beg  to  present  you  all,"  said  the  Duchesse,  impres- 
sively,— the  little  company  had  turned  as  she  entered,  the 
two  regal  figures  in  their  sumptuous  robes  sparkling  with 
gems  were  in  exquisite  contrast  to  the  sombre  room  with  its 
armorial  panels  and  Florentine  carvings, — "to  my  friend 
Mrs.  Conway.  L'Americaine  la  plus  charmante  qui  ex- 
iste, — and  that  is  not  too  much  to  say." 

As  Lamballe  moved  forward  from  a  rally  with  the  Prin- 
cess, which  had  left  him  mentally  floored  for  the  time  being, 
his  flashing  eyes  missed  the  flicker  of  almost  uncontrollable 
trepidation  which  played  across  the  features  of  the  woman 
who  occupied  so  prominent  a  position  under  the  electric 
bulb,  in  the  centre  of  the  room. 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

But,  as  they  gradually  accustomed  themselves  to  the 
glare,  and  with  it  the  sumptuous  circumstance  which  was 
thus  submitted  to  his  scrutiny,  his  heart  leaped.  Then  it 
ached. 

He  knew. 

Without  a  flickering  line  his  memory  darted  out,  and 
claimed  the  familiar  substance  of  those  memorable  sapphire 
eyes  ;  that  queenly  presence  ;  those  features  so  delicately 
traced,  with  their  air  of  haughty  reserve.  Above  the  hair 
was,  frankly  undisguised,  piled  in  masses  like  a  crown  of 
snow. 

Her  hair  had  been  golden. 

With  another  leap  his  spirit  spanned  the  years.  A 
moment  had  come  which  he  had  not  anticipated.  The 
volatile  flux  of  his  imagination  in  all  its  ebb  and  flow  had 
never,  in  its  acknowledgment  of  loss,  fraud,  self-revealment, 
thought  to  be  overcome  by  this  thing  which  brought  in  its 
train  such  an  indescribable  medley  of  forgotten  sensations. 

"The  Princess  Mennerlich,"  continued  the  Duchesse, 
clearly, — she  had  seen  Lamballe's  face  and  knew  her  stew- 
ardship, for  the  time,  was  over.  "  My  friend,  Mrs.  Ark- 
wright,  who  has  unearthed  from  perfidious  Albion's  social 
green-room  a  cancerous  growth  for  which  she  must  find  the 
cure,"  with  a  humorous  smile  ;  "  my  comrade  and  neigh- 
bor, Monsieur  Nordenskold, "  presenting  the  Swedish  at- 
tach6  ;  ' '  and  my  lifelong  friend,  the  dramatist,  Ferdinand 
Lamballe." 

"A  great  pleasure,"  said  Lamballe,  simply,  bowing 
low. 

Mrs.  Conway  did  not  answer. 

With  a  glance  she,  too,  had  registered  the  changes  in  the 
patrician  face  so  oddly  at  variance  with  its  chosen  costume 
of  harlequin. 

But  the  voice  was  the  same,  musical,  instinctively  com- 

'56 


UNMASKED 

manding.  And  the  sombre  eyes  which  remained  unlit  to- 
night ?  She  had  seen  them  flash  and  blaze, — conflagrations 
which  she  had  ignited. 

At  the  table  the  conversation  was  desultory  at  first.  The 
coming  play  was  discussed  and  dismissed.  ' '  Time  enough 
to-morrow,"  said  Lamballe,  shortly,  inwardly  wondering 
what  his  sensation  would  be  if  Mrs.  Conway  witnessed  his 
triumph. 

Strangely  enough,  after  the  first  throb  which  rent  asunder 
a  wound  he  fancied  healed,  or  at  least  dormant,  he  was  ex- 
periencing a  curious  sense  of  repose,  a  restfulness  he  had 
not  imagined  in  years. 

In  spite  of  everything,  here  was  a  woman  who  under- 
stood him.  She  had  been  frail,  but  of  a  rare  intelligence. 
Little  things  came  back  to  him  as  he  listened,  without  ap- 
pearing to  do  so,  to  the  low  tones  of  her  voice  as  she 
carried  on  a  conventional  conversation  with  her  neighbor, 
Nordenskold. 

How  sweetly  she  had  changed  !  In  spite  of  the  crown 
of  snow  which  gave  her  the  air  of  an  old  miniature,  which 
augmented  rather  than  took  from  her  beauty,  her  features 
were  the  same, — icily  perfect.  The  fair  face  seemed  as 
though  Time  had  passed  over  it  lightly,  unwilling  to  lay 
its  impress  on  either  such  blue-lined  temples  or  delicate 
cheeks.  The  natural  sequence,  thought  Lamballe,  bitterly, 
of  a  cold  temperament. 

But  the  bitterness  passed  out  of  him, — a  breath  from  the 
mirror  of  memory.  In  its  place  came  a  question  which 
hammered  at  his  heart' s  portal  insistently. 

Why? 

Had  it  been  ambition?  The  question  insinuated  itself 
between  his  graceful  persiflage  with  the  Princess  ;  between 
his  shafts  of  irony  and  wit  in  response  to  the  Duchesse, 
through  his  intellectual  expansion  under  the  warm  in- 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

terest  of  the  English  Ambassador.  Had  ambition  alone 
induced  this  woman  to  renounce  her  birthright  of  single- 
hearted  devotion  ? 

As  the  dawn  crept  through  the  shutters  and  paled  the 
candlelight  the  Duchesse's  guests  withdrew,  realizing  the 
night  was  past  and  the  new  dawn  begun. 

She  remembered  but  one  thing.     That  she  was  old. 

It  was  a  germ  that  clogged  her  pulse,  a  check  that 
reined  her  fancy  taut,  a  fact  that,  with  rugged  insistence, 
quenched  her  courage. 

The  reacknowledgment  had  come  to  her  with  the  sound 
of  his  voice.  It  set  forward  the  hands  on  her  mental  clock- 
work instead  of  setting  them  back,  as  she  could  have  wished. 
It  was  the  burden  of  the  night.  She  saw  her  name  in  the 
call-roll  of  the  gone  out ;  the  condemned. 

She  had  a  merciless  personal  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things. 

In  her  stern  retrospection  she  forgot  that  he,  too,  had 
passed  down  the  years,  and  had  remained  unmarried. 

Her  imagination  invested  him  with  none  of  the  charms 
for  which  other  women  loved  him  :  his  fame  ;  his  record  ; 
his  manly  patrician  beauty  ;  his  proof  of  superior  ability. 

She  remembered  an  eager  young  face  with  a  love-light 
upon  it  which  seemed  to  her  to  have  descended  from  a 
heaven  made  for  them  alone.  She  heard  the  musical  voice 
which  had  ebbed  out  for  her — and  to-night  flowed  in — 
throbbing  with  how  faithful  an  effigy  of  truth  ! 

He  lifted  his  hat  as  he  conducted  her  to  her  carriage. 
The  gray  lines  of  care  in  his  face  shone  out  under  the 
dawn's  cold  emphasis.  They  held  the  visible  drain  baldly 
captive.  Unflattering  evidence,  indeed,  of  the  superfluous 
energy  which  had  been  expended  with  the  years  ! 

As  Mrs.  Conway  rolled  out  into  the  Champs- Elyse'es  to- 
wards the  needle  of  the  Eiffel  tower  which  pierced  the  pink- 
ening  eastern  sky,  the  dome  of  Napoleon's  tomb  yellowing 

158 


A  SIGNIFICANT   FRUSTRATION 

into  a  bulb  of  glorified  prophecy  as  the  sun  crept  up  back 
of  it,  and  threw  it  out,  a  gilded  bubble,  an  innocent  symbol 
of  the  love-flushed  capital's  wealth,  she  was  wondering 
listlessly,  hopelessly,  bereft  of  either  pride  or  will. 

Wherefore  ? 

His  hand  had  crushed  out  her  dawn  for  her  ;  his  will,  the 
rose  of  her  pinkening  sky  ;  his  faithlessness,  her  sunshine. 

She  had  chosen  a  bubble  of  gold,  like  that  glistening  over 
below  there  which  registered  a  nation's  loss,  in  place  of  a 
lifetime  of  bliss. 

Her  choice  had  exemplified,  also,  a  tomb. 

"Ambition,"  muttered  Lamballe,  as  he  threw  himself 
into  his  coupe,  and  shivered  under  the  sharp  caress  of  the 
morning  air.  "  Of  that  sin  fell  the  angels." 


CHAPTER    XX 

A  SIGNIFICANT   FRUSTRATION 

MARKOE  had  long  wished  to  study  his  antagonist  at 
closer  range.  This  opportunity  would  have  been  readily 
obtained  had  not  Lamballe,  faithful  to  his  attitude  of  strict- 
est seclusion,  obstinately  opposed  so  straightforward  a 
solution  of  the  Franco-American  problem. 

When  one  day  the  courteous  director  of  the  Franfais,  at 
the  express  order  of  the  President  of  the  French  Repub- 
lic, forwarded  the  United  States  Ambassador  a  loge  for  the 
first  night  of  the  great  play  '  '  Avoided,  '  '  Markoe  rejoiced 
that  the  coming  representation  would  afford  a  bonne- 
bouche  which,  in  his  case,  held  a  double-edged  signifi- 
cance. The  accident  which  thrust  Lamballe  into  his  sup- 
posed enemy's  very  jaws,  nolens  volens,  tickled  the  latter'  s 
midriff,  and  prepared  his  receptive  faculty. 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

A  servant  stood  at  his  elbow. 

The  Ambassador  had  been  writing.  He  had  not  heard 
the  discreet  knock  which  preceded  the  interruption.  He 
arrested  his  hand  slowly,  and  detached  his  thoughts  from 
the  subject  under  pen  discussion  with  difficulty.  He  had 
given  special  orders  not  to  be  disturbed.  As  he  lifted  his 
eyes  impatiently  they  glanced  across  the  liveried  underling 
at  a  flash,  to  astonishedly  grasp  the  conviction  of  a  sturdy 
masculine  figure,  in  fustian,  standing  on  the  threshold, 
with  a  dilapidated  cap  held  clumsily  between  the  fingers 
of  a  sunburned,  toil-worn  hand. 

1 '  Burgess  !' '  ejaculated  Markoe,  dropping  his  pen. 

1 '  The  same,  sir. ' ' 

The  surveyor's  tone  was  charged  with  deepest  melancholy. 

The  Ambassador  rose.  He  made  a  sign  to  his  valet  de  pied 
to  withdraw.  That  worthy  obeyed  orders,  casting  a  suspi- 
cious glance  at  the  figure  on  the  threshold  as  he  passed. 

Markoe  followed  him  to  the  door,  closed  and  locked  it 
deliberately,  and  then  looked  towards  the  surveyor  with 
wordless  impatience.  He  wondered  at  his  dejected  bear- 
ing. Burgess's  was  generally  the  complete  satisfaction  of 
a  self-made  underling. 

"  Out  with  it,"  ejaculated  Markoe  :  adding,  "  My  time 
is  short.  Did  you  take  your  bearings  ?' ' 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir  ;  clear  as  paint." 

"And  the  chalk-pits?" 

' '  There  are  no  pits,  sir.  Those  remain  to  be  dug.  The 
bank  lays  under  ground,  an'  has  remained  unworked.  It 
is  covered  with  a  cluster  o'  trees,  a  belt  line  o'  green. 
The  gravel  covers  that :  the  chalk  is  below  it." 

' '  Does  it  extend  across  the  border  ?' ' 

Burgess  hesitated.     He  was  visibly  troubled. 

"  My  time  is  short,"  reiterated  Markoe,  looking  at  his 
watch  pointedly.  He  had  heard  a  carriage  drive  into  the 

1 60 


A  SIGNIFICANT   FRUSTRATION 

court  below.  He  knew  his  wife  had  gone  to  her  room  to 
don  her  evening  toilet.  They  had  consumed  a  late  dejeu- 
ner, and  had  mutually  decided  to  postpone  solider  suste- 
nance until  after  the  play.  He  was  not  dressed.  His 
valet  had  knocked,  to  remind  him  there  was  but  ten 
minutes'  leeway,  some  minutes  since. 

' '  I  have  a  little  matter  ter  relate  which  will  cum  unex- 
pected ter  yer,  Mr.  Markoe,"  Burgess  let  forth,  with  trepi- 
dation, at  this  period. 

The  Ambassador  looked  at  him  sharply.  He  had  not 
been  mistaken.  The  honest  fellow  was  a  victim  of  unde- 
niable agitation.  He  was  usually  so  stolidly  at  variance 
with  emotion  that  Markoe  contemplated  his  present  state 
with  considerable  apprehension. 

"  Unexpected  !"  he  repeated,  slowly. 

"Mister  Jack   sir,"  tentatively. 

"Well?" 

The  retort  direct  was  sharp.  Markoe  had  not  concerned 
himself  with  either  the  name  or  the  man  since  last  night, 
when  his  wife  had  professed  her  loneliness  to  be  augmented 
by  Conway's  absence.  His  thoughts  now  reverted  to  a 
scene  in  that  memorable  interview  of  his  with  the  head 
of  the  nation,  in  which  he  remembered  a  sentence  of  his 
own.  "  We  will  be  obliged  to  treat  with  raw  recruits  as 
helpers,  that  is  wherein  the  main  difficulty  will  lie."  He 
frowned.  ' '  What  of  Mr.  Jack  ?' '  he  inquired,  coldly. 

"He's  gone,  sir." 

"Gone!" 

The  Ambassador  wheeled  around  and  contemplated  his 
informant  with  a  pair  of  incredulous  eyes. 

"  If  you'll  give  me  five  minutes,  sir " 

' '  Ten, ' '  vouchsafed  Markoe.  < '  Go  ahead. ' '  He  looked 
at  his  watch,  this  time  without  recognizing  the  hour  the 
hands  registered. 

ji  161 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

11  We  were  two  days  at  it,  sir ;  I  takin'  bearin's  an'  Mister 
Jack  keepin'  watch-like.  We  had  decided  everything, 
except  the  point  as  ter  how  fur  the  chalk  extended,  when 
the  night  cum  on,  an'  with  it,  a  deluge  !  At  six  o'clock 
we  went  back  ter  the  hotel  an'  took  our  dinner,  prepared  ter 
put  in  another  day  at  it,  weather  permittin' ,  later.  I  went 
oneasy-like  after  our  meal  was  over.  Mister  Jack,  sir,  he 
got  enter  my  oneasiness,  an'  nothin'  would  do  but  thet  he 
should  take  my  place.  I  argued  and  argued.  He  wus  a 
green  hand,  I  am  an  old  one  ;  but  Lord,  sir,  it  wus  jest 
like  wavin'  a  red  rag  at  a  young  bull.  He  scented  the 
danger,  an'  he  went  off  half-cocked  in  search  of  it  I  had 
run  across  that  day  a  couple  o'  coves  who  seemed  to  be 
spyin'.  I  tole  Mister  Jack  about  'em.  He  would  have  it 
they  were  Lamballe's  men,  sir.  There  is  parties  who  hang 
onter  their  own  property  like  grim  death,"  with  a  grin. 
' '  So  when  Mister  Jack  got  onter  it  thet  a  malefactor  dis- 
covered on  private  premises  wus  sent  up  fur  three  months 
in  France,  nothin'  would  do  but  thet  he  makes  fur  them 
premises,  in  the  pourin'  rain  at  night,  ter  be  done  fur.  He 
wus  done  fur,"  with  solemn  emphasis. 

' '  What  do  you  mean  ?' ' 

"  I  mean  he  went,  sir.  He  did  not  cum  back.  I  waited 
fur  him  all  night.  When  mornin'  came,  he  had  not  re- 
turned. Since  then  I  have  scoured  the  country-side  with- 
out discoverin'  'im  nor  his  tracks.  The  valley  looks  as 
smilin'  an'  bland  as  a  spring  lamb.  He  went,  sir,  ter  find 
out  whether  or  no  the  chalk  extended  inter  Germany  or  not. ' ' 

The  Ambassador  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  he 
said,  pleasantly,  "  That  will  do,  Burgess." 

Burgess,  for  answer,  scratched  his  head  and  looked 
puzzled. 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  he  ventured  mechanically,  after  a 
period  of  stillness  which  tried  his  patience  mightily. 

162 


A  SIGNIFICANT  FRUSTRATION 

' '  Go  back  to  Carembourg, ' '  Markoe  ordered  presently, 
a  new  crispness  pervading  his  authoritative  manner. 
' '  Remain  there  until  you  hear  from  me. ' ' 

' '  An'  Mister  Jack,  sir  ?' '  anxiously. 

' '  Ah, ' '  ejaculated  the  Ambassador,  as  though  the 
thought  had  slipped  from  him  and  had  suddenly  been 
reawakened  at  the  mild  hint  of  his  surveyor. 

"He's  too  darin'  sir,"  garrulously;  "I  allers  said  so. 
Reckless-like.  We  ole  'uns  know  a  thing  or  two  about 
bein'  cautious.  But  them  young  'uns.  They  allers  runs 
their  heads  inter  a  noose." 

' '  Considerable  of  a  boy,"  mused  the  Ambassador,  audibly. 

' '  He  ain'  t  exactly  thet,  sir, ' '  ejaculated  Burgess,  blanch- 
ing painfully  now,  and  moving  towards  him  sideways,  crab 
fashion.  His  cap  was  being  twisted  out  of  shape.  His 
chin  had  dropped.  A  hard,  short  breath  came  from  behind 
his  teeth  in  a  panting  sound  like  a  dog  that  has  been 
summarily  lassoed.  ' '  There' s  more  ter  tell,  sir, ' '  went  on 
the  surveyor,  hoarsely.  ' '  I  saw  a  light  spring  up  in  the 
young  'un's  eyes  last  night  thet  looked  as  though  he  meant 
bizness.  He  wus  took  all  uv  a  heap  when  I  told  him  thet 
danger,  real  danger,  wus  in  the  air.  Wot  I  blame  myself 
now  fur  is  thet  I  didn't  warn  him  wot  thet  danger  wus. 
Lamballe's  men,  sir,  are  dreaded  like  poisonous  spiders. 
Their  orders  is,  Show  no  quarter.  Yer  know  wot  thet 
means  in  Kentucky  ?  It  means  the  same  in  France.  I 
got  it  a  week  sence  straight  frum  an  English  groom  who 
wus  stayin'  over  a  day  with  his  hosses,  detained  cos  some- 
thin'  wus  wrong  with  his  passport.  Swearin'  mad  he  wus 
too.  He  took  it  out  cussin'  Lamballe  fur  makin'  the  laws 
so  stiff  in  them  parts  thet  a  cock  robin  can't  hop  across 
the  border  without  bein'  obliged  ter  pay  a  fine.  '  Der  yer 
want  ter  know  wot  punishmen-t  is  meted  out  ter  poachers  in 
this  blasted  country  ?'  sez  he.  '  Take  the  trouble, '  sez  he, 

163 


A  NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

1  ter  twist  yer  right  leg  over  thet  ere  fence-rail  yonder,  jump 
down,  walk  fur  the  distance  uv  the  sixteenth  uv  a  mile 
straight  ahead,  an'  see  wot  there  is  to  see. '  I  follered  his 
directions,  sir,"  fearfully. 

"Well?" 

"  It  wusn't  well,  sir,  it  wus  ill.  I  put  in  a  pace  or  two 
towards  probin'  thet  ere  valley  the  first  night  we  reached 
Carembourg,  wen  young  Conway  wus  sleepin'  like  a  suckin' 
babe.  'Twus  moonlight.  I'm  an  ole  hand  at  gettin'  me 
bearin's.  I  had  'em  all  in  a  matter  uv  four  hours,  as  neat 
as  though  I  wus  wun  uv  them  Prussian  generals  they  tell 
on',  who  knew  their  ground  a  matter  o'  twenty  years  be- 
fore they  wus  called  ter  fight  on  it,  an'  ruined  France  on 
thet  strategy  as  much  as  a  better  trainin'  o'  discipline  than 
most.  Till  thet  night,  sir,  I  thought  we  hed  men  ter  deal 
with.  The  moonlight  showed  me  our  struggle  wus  ter  be 
with  beasts. ' ' 

' '  What  do  you  mean  ?' '  sharply. 

' '  I  swung  me  leg  across  the  same  fence- railin'  as  me 
English  friend  recommended,  sir,  an'  walked  ter  where  he 
designated.  I  wusn't  expectant  uv  findin'  anything  more 
than  a  trap  or  a  game-keeper.  I  found  a  corpse. ' ' 

"A  dog's?" 

"  No  ;  a  man's.  Stale  carrion  with  marks  uv  a  week-old 
blud  on  it,  a  hole  through  his  forehead  thet  cum  frum 
the  back,  an'  a  couple  uv  rabbits  tied  ter  a  leash  in  wun 
hand.  I  stumbled  over  'im  thinkin'  he  wus  underbrush. 
So  he  wus,  sir;  Lamballe's  underbrush.  He'd  been  shot 
down  like  a  dog  fur  doin'  no  wus  than  appropriatin'  sum 
game  thet  wus  a  creation  uv  the  Almighty. ' ' 

"  It  doesn't  do  to  oppose  the  law,  Burgess." 

"There's  them  as  calls  murder  illegal,"  retorted  the 
surveyor. 

' '  Did  you  inform  Conway  of  your  discovery  ?' ' 

164 


IN  THE  AMBASSADOR'S   LOGE 

"No,  sir.  I  let  him  go  off,  thinkin'  thet  ignorance  is 
bliss.  I  wus  afeard  thet  if  I  squealed  he  might  get  rattled. 
If  them  Frenchmen  has  put  cold  lead  inter  him  they'll  hev 
ter  answer  fur  it  or  my  name  ain'  t  Tom  Burgess.  '  ' 

4  '  Conway  knew  his  way  ?'  ' 

4  '  No,  sir.  '  '  Burgess  unaffectedly  lifted  his  arm  and 
drew  his  sleeve  across  his  eyes. 

'  '  You  may  go,  Burgess,  '  '  said  the  Ambassador,  after  a 
little. 

44  But,  sir,  he  may  be  rottin'  there  in  the  underbrush 
like  a  dead  rabbit,  instead  uv  the  gallant  young  feller  he 
is." 

''There's  only  one  thing  to  be  done,"  said  Markoe, 
peremptorily. 

"Yes,  sir." 

44  Go  back  to  Carembourg." 

4  4  And  you,  sir  ?'  ' 

The  Ambassador  looked  at  his  watch  again,  started,  and 
closed  the  lid  with  a  snap.  He  raised  his  eyes.  There  was 
a  peculiar  glint  in  them.  4  4  1  am  due  in  an  hour,  '  '  he  said, 
reflectively,  4  4  at  a  meeting  with  Lamballe.  '  ' 

4  4  1  hope  you'  11  get  inter  him  as  he  deserves,  sir.  '  ' 

"That's  what  we're  here  for,  Burgess." 


CHAPTER    XXI 
IN  THE  AMBASSADOR'S  LOGE 

IT  was  a  gala  night  in  the  famous  house  of  Moli&re. 
All  thinking  Paris  was  present  to  hear  and  see  the  curious 
spectacle  of  a  living  fraud  wittily  rebuked  by  a  master 
analyst. 

165 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

Lamballe  albeit  in  theory  a  dramatist  was  in  fact  a  moral 
draughtsman,  who  rejected  lack  of  symmetry  with  the 
identical  contempt  an  artist  experiences  when  he  discovers 
color  the  dominant  note  at  the  expense  of  fundamental 
principle.  His  introspective  faculty  was  overcivilized. 
The  butt  of  his  irony  to-night  was  Caracci,  a  far-famed 
specialist,  who  declared  his  method  of  cure  infallible.  For 
twenty  years  he  had  pursued  a  notorious  career  unchecked. 
Lamballe' s  critics  did  not  misconstrue  the  dramatist's 
meaning  like  lesser  beings  who,  through  ignorance,  might 
have  attached  the  wrong  value  to  appearances.  The  sub- 
ject was  presented  with  too  earnest  an  understanding  ;  its 
intention,  to  benefit  mankind,  too  apparent. 

The  curtain  fell,  after  the  first  act,  upon  an  indescribable 
tumult.  The  drift  had  been  indomitable.  The  vast 
audience  hummed  and  buzzed  like  a  hive  of  bees.  Each 
individual  exercised  his  right  to  contest  a  subject  whose 
existence  until  now  he  had  unquestioningly  accepted. 

The  dialogue  had  been  especially  pointed  and  sparkling. 
Audacity  revealed  itself  in  the  undercurrent  which  aimed 
at  demolishing  an  old  god,  humbug,  in  order  to  erect  a 
new  one,  faith. 

Caracci  himself,  plausible,  immaculate,  was  to  be  seen  in 
their  midst,  in  evening  dress,  discussing  cleverly,  with  a 
faint  guarded  smile  on  his  thin  lips,  the  reprehensible 
superficiality  of  the  modern  thinker.  He  was  a  man  who 
was  quoted  to  fold  down  the  stiffening  lids  of  his  dead 
with  the  same  imperturbability  with  which  he  now  con- 
templated his  critics. 

Lamballe  surrounded  by  his  friends,  courteously  juggling 
with  their  most  pointed  innuendoes,  and  evincing  a  noncha- 
lance throughout  which  called  forth  universal  admiration, 
was  slightly  discomfited  to  receive  a  command  from  the 
loge  of  the  United  States  representative  to  visit  him  in 

166 


IN  THE  AMBASSADOR'S   LOGE 

order  that  the  American  envoy  might  exchange  views  with, 
and  make  the  personal  acquaintance  of,  the  most  popular 
moral  diagnostician  of  the  day. 

There  was  no  answer  but  implicit  obedience. 

He  crossed  the  foyer,  on  his  way  to  Markoe'  s  loge,  to  be 
waylaid  half  a  dozen  times  in  the  act,  much  to  his  secret 
irritation. 

"You  have  scored  me  temporarily,  mon  cher,"  cooed 
Caracci,  with  his  smooth  smile  ;  ' '  but  the  advertisement 
may  offset  the  offence."  There  was  considerable  venom 
in  his  premeditated  attack. 

"  Que  voulez-vous  ?"  responded  the  dramatist,  with  a 
shrug.  ' '  The  world  demands  a  douche.  It  is  but  natural 
it  should  criticise  its  doucheur  !' ' 

The  tone  was  as  inexorable  as  stone.  The  aristocrat 
confronted  the  charlatan  unflinchingly.  Caracci  winced. 
His  vaunted  science  dwindled  to  its  true  value.  Notoriety 
may  be  considerably  nonplussed  by  the  secret  conscious- 
ness that  one  thoughtful  human  being  has  pierced  its  flimsy 
disguise.  He  stood  back  instinctively  before  that  calm, 
far-seeing  gaze.  It  shone  with  the  light  of  justice  repu- 
diative  of  judgment  and  mercy.  There  had  been  a  quiet 
humor  in  the  look  which  said,  ' '  Why  mask  you  insuf- 
ficiency, comrade  ;  are  we  not  all  human  ?' ' 

Ambassador  Markoe' s  loge  was  the  proscenium  on  the 
right-hand  second  tier.  As  Lamballe  entered  some  of  its 
inmates  passed  him  on  their  way  out.  There  were  a 
number  of  personages  about  Mrs.  Markoe' s  chair.  They 
prevented  the  new-comer  from  attracting  the  notice  he 
would  otherwise  have  instantly  commanded.  Chatting 
with  Markoe  was  a  profusely  decorated  notability  holding 
a  high  position  at  the  Court  of  St.  Petersburg.  At  his 
left  was  the  well-known  director  who  had  been  the  innocent 
means  of  promoting  the  present  encounter.  He  whispered 

167 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

Lamballe's  name  in  the  Ambassador's  ear.     Markoe  rose, 
and  came  forward  with  marked  impressiveness. 

' '  I  have  to  thank  you  for  a  new  experience, ' '  he  said. 

Lamballe  bowed. 

' '  A  great  play,  monsieur, ' '  went  on  the  Ambassador  in 
singularly  pure  and  flexible  French.  ' '  You  are  to  be 
feared  by  them  who  hold  high  places,  it  appears. ' ' 

"  Monsieur  is  too  kind  to  be  quite  just." 

Lamballe  confronted  his  host  with  a  perceptible  deter- 
mination not  to  be  outdone  by  his  amiability.  The  am- 
biguity of  his  response  was  not  lost  upon  Markoe. 

"Is  it  a  French  custom  to  thus  expose  a  weakness 
which  governs  mankind,"  he  inquired  lightly  ;  "the  weak- 
ness of  adjudging  itself  all-powerful?" 

' '  Mankind  should  govern, ' '  returned  Lamballe,  with 
ironical  brevity. 

"  Quite  so.  But  how  about  those  men  who  are  made  to 
obey  laws,  monsieur,  instead  of  to  make  them  ?' '  returned 
the  Ambassador,  with  a  responsive  gleam  in  his  eye. 

"There  are  laws  and  laws,"  vouchsafed  Lamballe  eva- 
sively. He  stooped  to  detach  a  piece  of  drapery  from  the 
sword  of  a  military  officer  who  stood  near  him  vainly 
striving  to  withdraw,  with  grace,  from  the  diplomatic 
circle,  after  having  made  his  adieux  to  his  hostess.  Lam- 
balle continued,  lifting  his  eyes  to  those  of  the  Ambassador, 
as  if  to  enforce  the  meaning  of  his  words  :  ' '  There  are  also 
men — you  by  this,  sans  doute,  have  perceived  as  often  as  I 
— who  are  born  to  enforce  the  rules  which  other  men  break. ' ' 

His  face  was  impenetrable  as  he  gave  vent  to  this  state- 
ment blandly.  Markoe  felt  his  spirit  leap  at  the  covert 
insinuation  he  imagined  it  contained,  like  the  coat  of  a 
thoroughbred  to  the  flick  of  the  whip. 

The  crowd  which,  till  now,  had  surrounded  Mrs.  Markoe's 
chair  fell  back. 

168 


I    HAVE    TO    THANK    YOU    FOR    A    NEW    EXPERIENCE,"   HE    SAID 


IN  THE  AMBASSADOR'S   LOGE 

The  new  Ambassadress  bowed  in  response  to  Lamballe's 
profound  inclination.  At  an  inviting  gesture  from  her 
gloved  hand  he  seated  himself  at  her  side. 

' '  You  are  treating  us  to  a  charming  evening,  Monsieur 
Lamballe, ' '  she  was  pleased  to  affirm  in  her  sweet  voice. 
"  I  confess  I  almost  fear  you.  With  pitiless  truth  you  are 
exposing  a  state  of  things  which  Paris  had  done  more 
wisely  to  ignore." 

' '  Human  nature,  madame,  must  ever  bear  the  conse- 
quences of  its  own  imprudence." 

' '  The  imprudence  of  believing  too  much  in  itself !  You 
are  harsh." 

The  low  voice  was  reproachful.  The  delicate  face  was 
set  like  a  white  cameo  against  the  crimson  curtains  which 
fell  behind  it.  The  Ambassadress  was  attired  in  a  severely 
simple  gown  of  black  velvet.  She  wore  no  ornament,  with 
the  exception  of  a  huge  diamond  star  which  held  her  mag- 
nificent coils  captive  above  the  forehead,  from  which  her 
hair  rolled  back  sumptuously. 

Lamballe  regarded  her  piercingly.  She  returned  his  gaze 
coldly.  Her  critical  acumen  was  not  to  be  biased  by  her 
appreciative  faculty, — an  attribute  which  Lamballe  remem- 
bered to  be  a  peculiarly  charming  characteristic  of  American 
womanhood. 

' '  There  are  wheels  within  wheels, ' '  he  explained,  a  little 
shortly.  ' '  It  would  be  difficult  for  a  foreigner — even  of 
unusual  intelligence — to  grasp  the  hundred  and  one  shades 
which  shift  and  elude  one  another  in  Paris  inner  circles.  If 
my  poor  attempt  has  given  you  a  moment  of  diversion,  its 
mission  is  already  accomplished." 

The  manner  was  perfect.  The  words  conveyed  the  mean- 
ing that  this  remarkable  Frenchman,  true  to  his  inherited 
faith  that  woman  is  the  inferior  animal,  did  not  propose  to 
discuss  his  motives  at  large. 

169 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

The  insinuation  nettled  Mrs.  Markoe.  She  was  accus- 
tomed to  being  taken  very  seriously  indeed. 

"I- think,"  she  protested,  icily,  "you  must  do  me  the 
honor  of  considering  that  I  understand  the  motive  of  your 
play,  monsieur." 

Lamballe  glanced  at  her  in  a  benevolent  fashion  for  a 
moment.  Then  he  returned  the  salute  of  a  brilliantly  at- 
tired feminine  personage  across  the  house.  Both  the  salute 
and  the  slight  expression  of  puzzled  attention  which  pre- 
ceded it  were  saturated  with  considerable  weariness. 

' '  Your  play  was  not  written  for  your  own  amusement,  or 
for  ours,"  pronounced  the  Ambassadress,  heartily.  "It 
was  written  with  a  purpose,  monsieur,  a  noble  purpose.  I 
congratulate  you  !" 

Responsiveness,  unimpregnated  with  either  self-interest 
or  envy,  was  a  quality  seldom  proffered  Lamballe.  He 
had  not  half  realized  how  uncommon  the  sensation — subse- 
quent upon  its  unfolding — might  be,  nor  how  sweet,  until 
now. 

His  face  flushed  to  the  roots  of  his  hair.  He  could  but 
bow  lower  over  the  frank  little  gloved  hand  extended  to- 
wards him.  Curious  people,  these  Anglo-Saxons,  with 
their  reserve,  so  peculiarly  offset  by  spontaneity. 

' '  Madame  est  trop  aimable.  Madame,  from  the  richness 
of  her  own  kind  heart, — and  what  so  generous  as  youth  ?' ' — 
with  a  swift  glance  of  respectful  admiration, — "  too  gener- 
ously judges  me  as  she  herself  would  ask  to  be  judged. 
I  am  deaf,"  humorously,  with  a  dancing  twinkle  which 
died  instantly  like  a  spark  with  a  short  life.  "HI  am 
also  silent,  it  is  because  I  have  not  the  heart  to  dispute  so 
generous  a  criticism. ' ' 

' '  Tell  us,  Lamballe, ' '  interrupted  a  clever  young  attache" 
from  the  English  Embassy  approaching  them,  as  two  more 
visitors  were  ushered  into  the  loge,  and  the  inmates  were 

170 


IN  THE  AMBASSADOR'S   LOGE 

thus  crowded  forward,  ' '  your  play  is  intended  as  a  direct 
thrust  at  Caracci, — n'est-ce-pas?" 

"  Que  veux-tu,  mon  cher?"  returned  Lamballe.  He 
denied  nothing.  He  contented  himself  with  listening.  It 
seemed  as  if  his  own  play  were  being  revealed  to  him. 
"  Caracci  has  had  his  own  way  for  half  a  century.  It  is  but 
natural  that  I,  a  contemporary,  should  discover  a  flaw  in  his 
methods.  I  am  not  the  most  pronounced  of  conservatives 
as  regards  tradition.  The  law  of  progress  must  be  encour- 
aged, not  rebuked.  The  young  ones  have  their  grievances. 
It  is  but  fair  that  I  should  speak  for  them." 

' '  Ah  !  You  are  voicing  New  World  sentiments  now,  mon- 
sieur," broke  in  Markoe's  vibrant  voice.  The  Ambas- 
sador had  moved  towards  them  silently.  Lamballe  started. 
"  Progress,  then,  you  do  espouse  ?  A  la  bonne  heure.  The 
scales  begin  to  fall  from  my  eyes.  Why  is  it  that  I  have 
been  so  many  weeks  in  Paris  and  that  this  is  the  first  time  I 
have  had  the  honor  to  meet  so  enlightened  an  individual  ?' ' 

The  question  was  bluntly  delivered.  Lamballe  answered 
it  with  the  utmost  nonchalance. 

"  Pardon  me  :  I  evaded  monsieur." 

Markoe  gazed  at  his  bidden  guest  imperturbably.  "  You 
did  me  the  honor  to  avoid  me.  Did  you,  then,  fear  me?" 

There  was  a  quizzical  light  in  Markoe's  queer,  colorless 
eyes  which  set  off  the  shrewd  lines  which  framed  them. 

"  I  confess  that  the  dread  I  experienced  was  not  fear, 
monsieur, ' '  returned  Lamballe,  with  a  subtle  smile. 

' '  Lack  of  interest,  perhaps  ?' '  pleasantly.  The  Ambas- 
sador apparently  considered  indifference  a  natural  attribute 
in  so  pampered  a  dilettante. 

' '  I  would  scarcely  name  myself  guilty  of  so  discourteous 
a  quality.  Let  us  admit  that  nous  autres  Parisians  are  a 
trifle  lukewarm  in  our  cosmopolitan  interests, — more's  the 
pity.  We  are  proverbially  self-sufficient.  We  have  not  yet 

171 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

learned  to  grow  as  fast  as  you  have.  Does  the  law  of  ex- 
pansion extend  to  your  sympathies  as  well  as  to  your  bor- 
ders ?  It  would  seem  so,  since  you  are  pleased  to  under- 
stand me  better  than  most." 

Did  the  remark  disguise  a  challenge  ?  Or  did  it  contain 
solely  the  frank  expression  of  an  outspoken  gratitude  ? 

' '  The  American  nation  has  more  than  once  been  made 
aware  of  your  distaste  for  it,  Monsieur  Lamballe,"  re- 
marked the  Ambassador,  coolly. 

This  was  carrying  the  war  into  the  enemy' s  territory  with 
a  vengeance.  To  Lamballe,  the  courage  displayed  in  the 
attack  was  preeminent.  It  was  a  straight-from-the-shoul- 
der  policy  which  he  had  never  learned  to  employ. 

He  felt  as  though  he  had  been  fretting  over  cribbage 
with  a  person  who  had  never  attempted  anything  more 
scientific  than  a  game  of  marbles.  The  American  embodied 
a  new  race  from  his  inscrutable  eyes — which  at  a  glance 
seized,  considered,  and  dismissed — to  his  patent-leather- 
clad  feet,  one  of  which  was  beating  an  impatient  tattoo 
upon  the  floor. 

Markoe  added,  ' '  Although  I  am  the  United  States  rep- 
resentative I  refuse  to  be  disliked,  monsieur.  I  decline  to 
be  ignored.  I  came  here  to-night  to  make  the  acquaint- 
ance of  the  man  who  dares  to  throw  down  the  glove  before 
his  fellows  for  humanity's  sake  rather  than  in  behalf  of  his 
personal  interests.  Yours  is  a  New  World  prerogative.  I 
regret  the  pleasure  I  experience  may  not  be  mutual.  I 
confess  I  still  hope  it  may  be.  Were  you  more  generally 
known  among  us  we  would  consider  it  a  privilege  to  up- 
roariously acclaim  so  royal  a  plea  for  principle.  Yours  is 
the  courage  of  the  common  soldier,  who  is  willing  to  die 
unknown  so  long  as  his  flag  waves  triumphant !" 

The  words  were  glowing,  concise,  emphatic. 

Lamballe' s  eyes  flamed.  He  felt  his  prejudice  melting 

172 


IN  THE  AMBASSADOR'S  LOGE 

like  ice  before  the  sun  in  this,  his  maiden  encounter,  with 
virile  common  sense. 

"  It  is  a  great  nation,  the  new  nation,"  he  ejaculated,  a 
vivid  light  breaking  across  the  settled  sadness  of  his  fine 
face.  ' '  It  possesses  one  characteristic  which  the  coming 
generation  of  Latins  seek  to  put  out, — what  with  its  prevail- 
ing habit  of  unfaith, — its  name  is  trust." 

Markoe  had  seated  himself.  He  had  lifted  his  elbow  over 
the  back  of  his  fauteuil,  and  was  sweeping  the  house  with 
his  glasses. 

"Yes.  We  trust — until  we  have  been  deceived,"  he  re- 
plied, nonchalantly. 

This  time  his  own  words  were  ambiguous. 

A  dull  knocking  was  heard.  It  was  the  signal — an  old- 
time  tradition  at  the  Fra^ais — that  the  curtain  was  about 
to  rise. 

Lamballe  started  hurriedly  to  his  feet. 

He  hesitated. 

' '  Shall  we  call  a  truce  and  make  friends,  monsieur  ?' ' 
suggested  he,  pleasantly.  He  was  evidently  off  his  guard 
completely.  His  manner  exemplified  the  open-hearted 
ardor  of  a  great  child. 

The  Ambassador  accompanied  his  guest  to  the  door  of 
the  loge  as,  after  making  his  adieux  to  Mrs.  Markoe,  he 
advanced  towards  the  exit. 

"A  truce  by  all  means.  Who  would  not  call  a  truce 
with  a  man  of  your  calibre,  Lamballe  ?' ' 

Lamballe  shook  his  angular  shoulders  with  a  peculiar 
gesture,  as  though  freeing  them  from  a  yoke.  He  smiled, 
sceptically. 

"  '  Calibre,'  "  he  repeated,  dubiously.  "  A  calibre  into 
which  the  world  has  poured  the  iron,  monsieur." 

"  '  Our  deeds  are  fetters  that  we  forge  ourselves,'  "  mur- 
mured Markoe,  the  shrewd  lines  about  his  colorless  eyes 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

deepening.  He  was  gazing  absently  at  the  group  about  his 
wife's  chair,  although  he  stood  with  the  door  swung  open, 
ushering  out  his  illustrious  guest. 

Lamballe  began  to  speak  ardently,  impetuously.  The 
past  night  had  set  a  song  agog  in  his  soul  which  would  not 
be  silenced.  This  evening's  curious  coincidence  seemed 
the  sequel  of  that  meeting  with  Madeleine  Farragut  which, 
although  it  had  strained  his  patience,  had  thrown  the  old 
question  into  a  new  groove.  He  felt  alert,  more  alive  than 
he  had  been  for  years. 

Appreciation  sometimes  loosens  the  fetters  of  endurance, 
and  sets  it  swinging  to  a  majestic  measure  fraught  with 
delight. 

He  threw  off  caution,  suspicion,  conviction.  Eager, 
recklessly  lending  himself  to  the  invincible  charm  of  an  in- 
tellectual equal,  he  ended,  "Had  you  known  me  when  a 
boy,  monsieur,  I  venture  to  say  you  would  be  astonished  at 
the  man  I  have  become." 

"Yes,"  returned  Markoe,  unresponsively.  As  Lam- 
balle's  ardor  increased  his  own  spontaneity  died  out. 

"  Ecoutez  !"  cried  Lamballe,  radiantly, — he  was  pushing 
his  way  out,  the  crowded  corridors  were  emptying  as  the 
throng  made  its  way  back  into  place,  his  eyes  gleamed,  his 
noble  face  was  the  picture  of  a  magnanimous  soul  which  is 
eager  to  pay  its  debt  with  compound  interest, — "  I  think  we 
shall  be  friends, ' '  he  said. 

' '  Pardon  me,  the  curtain  is  rising  on  your  second  act, ' ' 
returned  Markoe,  looking  towards  the  stage. 


BETWEEN   DAYLIGHT  AND  DARK 
CHAPTER    XXII 

BETWEEN    DAYLIGHT   AND    DARK 

' '  AT  the  Francais  last  night, ' '  wrote  Vodillet  in  a  promi- 
nent morning  newspaper,  ' '  the  critical  world  was  treated  to 
a  new  order  of  old  things.  A  man  named  Lamballe  came 
to  earth  and,  lifting  his  magic  wand,  endowed  a  cluster  of 
human  beings  first  with  the  listening  quality,  second  with 
the  receptive,  and  third  with  the  enthusiastic.  An  interest- 
ing evening ;  an  able  dramatist ;  a  forceful  play.  The 
sword  of  Damocles  in  'Avoided'  hangs  by  a  hair  over 
the  heads  of  the  audience  and  the  players.  Science,  in 
'Avoided,'  is  undone  ;  inevitability  is  proven  ;  fatuity  dis- 
countenanced. 

1 '  '  Avoided'  treats  of  the  great  practitioner  who  is  utilized 
by  destiny  to  deny  his  own  reckless  promise  to  create  out 
of  human  will  a  victor  over  death.  It  is  a  nail  in  the  coffin 
of  an  esteemed  contemporary  who  will  yet  confront  the 
problem  of  '  Physician,  heal  thyself. '  The  title  is,  pur- 
posely, a  misleading  one.  That  the  foremost  character 
proclaims  his  failure,  while  appearing  to  evade  it  by  suc- 
cumbing to  the  inevitable,  demonstrates  the  uncommon 
genius  of  the  play's  great  author,  who  thus  defies  tem- 
porary extinction  in  assuming  immortality. 

' '  Lamballe  has  written  many  a  play  to  astound  his  critics. 
His  last  bewilders  them. 

' '  The  commonplace  has  been  quoted  both  unenviable 
and  irremediable. 

"Notwithstanding,  we  can  but  bow  our  heads  to  this 
reverent  spirit,  which  proves  its  case  simply  as  a  little 
child  through  the  acknowledgment  of  immutable  laws. 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

We  have  in  our  midst  a  Daniel  who  seeks  humbly  and 
justly,  with  Divine  aid,  to  extinguish  the  poisonous  fungus 
of  every  unworthy  growth." 

"I  go  to  Carembourg  to-morrow,"  remarked  Markoe, 
on  his  way  home,  to  his  wife.  She  drooped  pallidly  back 
in  a  corner  of  their  brougham  as  they  rolled  up  the  Rue  de 
Rivoli,  across  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  into  the  Cours  la 
Reine.  Beyond  the  river  the  ruins  of  the  Tuileries  seemed 
a  ghost  of  past  royalty, — its  eyes  gouged  out. 

"Ah,  indeed,"  Mrs.  Markoe  answered,  faintly.  "Why?" 

The  Ambassador  turned  and  looked  at  her.  There  were 
two  marks,  like  brown  velvet  bruises,  one  under  each  long- 
lashed  lid.  Her  eyes  were  closed.  Listlessly  she  reclined, 
as  though  the  weight  of  her  lace-trimmed  wrap  were  bur- 
dening her  slight  body  with  its  over-garnishment.  She 
reminded  Markoe  of  some  tropical  bird  which  longs  to 
doff  its  feathers  and  soar  out  towards  a  land  of  perpetual 
joy,  where  life  is  all  sunshine  and  love  all  song.  He  had 
been  made  aware  of  his  wife's  complete  detachment  from 
himself  more  acutely  than  ever  to-night.  She  was  som- 
brely absorbed.  Once  he  heard  her  sigh  heavily.  After 
Lamballe  had  quitted  their  loge  and  the  play  had  un- 
folded, he  had  seen  her  lose  interest  minute  by  minute  in 
the  contemplation  of  some  problem  of  which  he  could  not 
guess,  and  would  not  ask  the  meaning. 

"A  very  forcible  drama,"  vouchsafed  the  Ambassador, 
leaning  across  Mrs.  Markoe  and  pulling  up  the  window. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  with  a  shiver.  "Yes,"  in 
answer  to  his  remark.  ' '  Probing  does  always  seem  so 
unnecessary,  though,  to  me. ' '  Her  tone  was  fraught  with 
undisguised  melancholy. 

The  Ambassador  mentally  registered  a  sense  of  defeat. 
He  threw  off  the  depression  the  thought  brought  with  it, 
and  abruptly  changed  the  subject. 

176 


BETWEEN   DAYLIGHT  AND  DARK 

"Why,  Carembourg ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Markoe  again,  in 
a  slightly  agitated  voice,  some  minutes  later.  They  were 
ensconced  in  the  library,  before  a  window  looking  out 
onto  a  garden  which  harbored  two  nightingales  that  were 
chanting  loudly  their  wedding  hymn. 

The  Ambassador  was  dissecting  a  bird  with  infinite  relish. 

The  bones  were  audibly  crunched  between  his  strong, 
white  teeth  before  he  responded.  When  he  did  so  his 
eyes  fell  upon  the  drooping  face  across  the  table.  Mrs. 
Markoe  was  listlessly  rolling  some  bread-crumbs  into  a  little 
ball  under  her  restless  fingers.  She  was  not  hungry,  she 
had  said. 

"  Curiously  enough,"  began  the  Ambassador,  distinctly, 
"Burgess  came  in  from  Carembourg  this  morning  to  an- 
nounce to  me  that  Conway  was  missing. ' ' 

There  was  a  dull  pause. 

Then  Mrs.  Markoe  raised  her  heavy  lids  and  looked 
across  the  table  at  her  husband. 

"Where?"  she  asked. 

The  question  was  not  strictly  grammatical,  but  the  halt- 
ing word  seemed  the  only  one  at  hand  just  then. 

' '  Ah, ' '  replied  the  Ambassador,    ' '  where,  indeed  ?     It 

seems "      Mrs.   Markoe  rose  quietly  and  leaned  half 

across  the  table  to  arrange  a  drooping  rose  in  a  low  vase, — 
the  bruises  under  her  eyes  seemed  deepening  minute  by  min- 
ute ;  the  curves  of  her  exquisite  lips  were  compressed,  her 
hand  trembled  :  of  this  she  appeared  unconscious.  Very 
softly  she  lifted  the  heavy  rose  and  steadied  it  against  a 
neighboring  piece  of  fern.  Then  she  stood  silently, 
listening. 

"  Burgess  said,"  continued  Markoe,  lighting  a  cigar  and 
beginning  to  puff  at  it  contentedly,  ' '  that,  night  before  last 
Conway  went  forth  in  the  driving  rain  to  hunt  up  some  de- 
tails about  that  chalk  strata.     He  did  not  return." 
»  177 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

"  Since  which  ?" 

Was  that  his  wife' s  voice  ? 

Markoe  wheeled  abruptly  and  gazed  in  the  direction 
from  which  the  sound  had  come.  The  graceful  figure  had 
crossed  the  room  as  he  spoke.  It  now  stood  behind  him. 
One  dimpled  elbow  was  against  the  mantel.  She  was  in 
shadow.  Her  outline  was  motionless. 

"There  has  been  no  'which,'  "  Markoe  said,  succinctly. 
"It's  all  where.  Burgess  had  scoured  the  country  with- 
out success.  I  ordered  him  back  to  Carembourg  this 
morning  to  await  my  orders.  I  have  heard  nothing  from 
him  since.  There  is  a  screw  loose  somewhere." 

' '  What  do  you  fear  ?' '   inquired  the  strained  voice. 

' '  French  law  as  to  poachers  is  admittedly  stiff.  Conway 
should  have  performed  his  duties  by  daylight.  He  chose, 
out  of  the  exuberance  of  his  characteristic  recklessness,  to 
disobey  orders.  I  suppose  he  can't  expect  to  escape  the 
consequences." 

' '  Consequences  !' ' 

Again  the  Ambassador  turned  and  looked  silently 
towards  the  figure  behind  him.  ' '  He  may  have  been 
arrested, ' '  he  continued,  shortly,  ' '  and  he  may  have 
been " 

"  Well?"  breathlessly.     The  word  was  almost  a  cry. 

"Shot,"  concluded  the  Ambassador.  He  knocked  the 
ashes  off  the  end  of  his  cigar  with  his  right  hand  little 
finger. 

' '  What  time  was  it  when  he  disappeared  ?' '  inquired 
an  extremely  Low,  inanimate  yoice,  after  some  seconds  had 
elapsed. 

"A  little  after  six  o'clock,"  vouchsafed  Markoe,  deliber- 
ately, subsequent  to  consulting  his  memory. 

' '  Six  o'  clock  night  before  last  ?' ' 

"Precisely." 

178 


BETWEEN  DAYLIGHT  AND  DARK 

"And  there  has  been  nothing  done  since?"  with  en- 
forced calm. 

Markoe  wheeled  about  in  his  chair  again,  rose,  and 
walked  towards  his  wife. 

' '  What  was  there  to  be  done  ?"  he  demanded,  pleasantly. 

"  You  could  have  instituted  a  search.  If  he  left  Burgess 
at  six  o'clock  night  before  last  he  has  been  gone  already 
two  days  and  two  nights, — altogether  about  forty-eight 
hours.  Time  enough, ' '  bitterly,  ' '  it  seems  to  an  ignorant 
person  like  me,  to  have  made  some  effort  to  discover  his 
whereabouts. ' ' 

The  Ambassador  smiled  slowly.  He  looked  out  from 
under  a  pair  of  quizzical  eyebrows  at  the  figure  before 
him.  Mrs.  Markoe  was  apparently  greatly  alarmed.  She, 
too,  undisguisedly  lamented  her  husband's  lack  of  pertur- 
bation. 

' '  There  is  in  all  probability  no  cause  for  fear, ' '  he  said, 
in  that  strong,  vibrant  voice  of  his  which  commanded 
courage  and  common  sense.  "  He  is  old  enough  and 
clever  enough  to  handle  himself,  the  young  rascal.  He 
is  losing  time,  that  is  all." 

' '  If  there  is  no  cause  for  fear,  why  do  you  go  to  Carem- 
bourg?" 

"  Lamballe  may  be  ugly,"  vouchsafed  Markoe,  lighting 
his  second  cigar  with  punctilious  care. 

' '  The  reason  why  to-night  you  treated  him  with  such 
marked  courtesy  ?' ' 

Mrs.  Markoe  was  regarding  her  husband  with  a  pair  of 
contemptuous  eyes. 

' '  The  reason  why  I  did  not  display  my  hand, ' '  Markoe 
returned,  slowly,  after  an  irritating  pause. 

1 '  You  are  diplomatic  !' ' 

' '  Say,  rather,  something  of  a  strategist, ' '  murmured 
Markoe,  deprecatingly. 

179 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

"  As  you  will,"  abruptly.  "And  what  do  you  propose 
10  do  now?" 

"Wait." 

"  I  beseech  you,  Stephen,  do  not  fail  to  discover  Jack 
Conway's  whereabouts,  and  at  once."  Mrs.  Markoe  was 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  She  had  walked  there 
restlessly.  She  now  looked  over  her  shoulder  at  her  stolid 
husband  almost  prayerfully. 

' '  Are  you  not  unduly  nervous  ?' ' 

' '  You  have  said  yourself  there  is  no  time  to  be  lost. ' ' 

"Yes,"  he  responded,  unflinchingly,  gazing  at  his  ad- 
viser with  a  close,  inscrutable  intent. 

She  walked  very  wearily  to  a  sofa  on  which  she  had 
thrown  her  cloak.  It  seemed  to  Markoe  that  her  step  was 
a  little  uneven.  She  lifted  the  light  crumpled  mass  of  lace 
and  satin  up  to  the  level  of  her  elbow  and  threw  it  across 
her  arm  with  an  effort.  Then  she  glanced  towards  the  door. 
The  distance  seemed  far  off.  How  tired  she  was  !  How 
deadly  sodden  with  fatigue  and  apprehension  ! 

She  moved  aimlessly  across  the  floor.  Then,  softly,  as  a 
leaf  falls  from  a  frost-bitten  tree,  she  stumbled  a  little  for- 
ward and  slid  to  the  floor. 

The  Ambassador  stepped  out  hurriedly,  after  flinging  his 
cigar  away.  He  knelt  and  lifted  his  wife's  head  to  his 
knee.  He  placed  one  hand  against  her  heart.  It  was  beat- 
ing unevenly.  He  drew  a  flask  from  his  pocket,  unscrewed 
the  silver  stopper  with  his  teeth,  and  forced  some  drops  be- 
tween her  ashen  lips. 

After  a  time  the  eyelids  fell  apart,  and  Mrs.  Markoe  saw 
her  husband's  imperturbable  face  looking  into  hers. 

"  I  think  I  fainted,"  she  whispered. 

"Yes,"  confirmed  the  Ambassador,  unsuggestively. 

With  his  assistance  she  managed  to  rise  to  her  feet. 

"Shall  I  ring?"  inquired  Markoe. 

180 


BETWEEN  DAYLIGHT  AND  DARK 

"  Thank  you.     It  is  not  necessary." 

She  moved  towards  the  door  slowly.  Her  husband 
watched  her  narrowly  between  the  gleaming  slit  of  his  half- 
closed  eyes.  Suddenly  she  arrested  her  steps.  She  ap- 
peared to  be  gathering  all  her  forces  together  for  her  forth- 
coming remark.  When  it  came  its  import  was  not  a  surprise 
to  the  Ambassador. 

' '  I  hope  you  will  lose  no  time, ' '  she  said.  Her  eyes  now 
looked  across  the  space  between  them  supplicatingly. 

' '  Rest  assured, ' '  he  returned,  helpfully,  ' '  that  every- 
thing feasible  will  be  done. ' ' 

She  interrupted  him.  "I  think  we  should  consider," 
feverishly,  ' '  that  he  is  his  mother' s  only  child  :  in  that 
case  we — you  and  I — are,  in  a  measure,  responsible  for  his 
well-being. ' ' 

' '  Obviously, ' '  returned  the  Ambassador,  dryly.  He 
stood  tranquilly,  one  hand  in  each  trousers-pocket,  his  head 
thrust  out  a  little,  listening  with  curious  intentness  to  the 
sound  of  his  wife's  voice.  It  seemed  charged  with  a  new, 
weird  low  note  to  him.  The  cry  of  a  wood-thrush  in  the  dark. 

She  did  not  observe  his  attitude.  She  was  too  occupied, 
apparently,  with  the  business  in  hand. 

"He  is  very  reckless,"  she  said,  wistfully.  "Only  a 
child  after  all.  All  men  are  grown-up  children  ;  but  I  think 
Jack  Conway  is  more  of  a  child  than  any  man  I  ever  knew." 
She  stopped.  Her  breath  seemed  gone. 

"  Precisely  my  own  opinion,"  replied  Markoe,  very 
gently  and  kindly. 

Mrs.  Markoe  became  suddenly  aware  of  the  patience 
expressed  in  his  attitude.  She  flushed  visibly  all  over  her 
exquisite  face.  She  hesitated. 

"I  think,  Stephen,"  she  whispered, — the  words  leaped 
across  the  silent  room  from  her  to  him, — "that  I  should 
like  it  were  you  to  kiss  me  good-night. ' ' 

181 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

Markoe  stiffened. 

His  hands  came  out  of  his  trousers-pockets  with  a  jerk. 
For  one  instant  he  stood  strangely  still,  as  though  con- 
centrating into  that  short  period  the  strongest  effort  of  his 
life. 

"You  are  weak  and  ill,"  he  said.  Then,  as  she  did  not 
answer,  but  just  stood  and  looked  at  him  blindly,  her  lips 
half  parted,  one  little  hand  moving  up  and  down  the  mould- 
ing of  the  doorway  against  which  she  stood,  he  added,  ' '  I 
will  not  take  advantage  of  so  generous  an  offer  in  your 
present  exhausted  condition,  my  wife." 

That  was  all. 

To  Markoe' s  surprise  the  words  did  not  appear  to  hurt, 
or  even  ruffle  her  equanimity  in  the  least.  She  only  stood 
looking  at  him  wistfully,  deprecatingly,  like  a  wilful  child 
who  has  done  wrong,  knows  it,  and  acknowledges  a  just 
punishment. 

"  I  have  been  very  foolish  and  weak,"  she  said. 

"You  have  been  overdoing,"  he  subjoined,  still  kindly. 
It  was  his  habit  ever  to  help  her  away  from  any  evidence 
of  pettishness  by  his  complete  understanding  when  she  was 
ill  or,  in  any  way,  suffering. 

The  subtle  comprehension  seemed  perilously  sweet  to  her 
to-night  when  she  was  so  completely  undone.  She  must 
sleep,  she  was  thinking,  and  find  strength  somehow  to  do 
her  part  to-morrow. 

"  Good-night,"  she  whispered,  softly.  It  sounded  soft. 
It  was  overwrought.  She  knew  that  her  breath  seemed 
gone,  with  the  fibre  which  had  dropped  out  of  her  being 
because  of  Markoe' s  mention  of  Conway's  mysterious  ab- 
sence. Oh,  what  had  she  done  !  What  had  she  done  ? 

"  Sweet  dreams,  my  wife,"  said  he. 

She  waved  her  hand.     She  disappeared. 

Markoe  went  back  to  the  mantel,  and.  lifting  the  lid  of  a 

182 


CONCERNING  CAREMBOURG 

match-box,  lighted  a  fresh  cigar  which  he  drew  from  his 
vest-pocket.  He  stood  reflectively,  his  legs  wide  apart,  for 
a  full  half-hour,  puffing  slowly.  Once,  during  a  period  in 
which  his  face  darkened  ominously,  he  looked  across  the 
room  at  the  rose  she  had  propped  against  the  fern  beside 
it  with  a  curious  light  in  his  eyes. 

"  '  A  rose  by  any  other  name,'  "  he  said,  aloud. 

But  his  expression  softened  as  he  settled  down  to  his 
familiar  habit  of  endurance.  Just  before  the  dawn  broke 
he  extinguished  the  light  and  passed  across  the  hall  to  his 
own  room. 

As  he  stepped  over  the  threshold  upon  which  his  wife 
had  stood  so  supplicatingly  thirty  minutes  before,  he  raised 
his  left  arm  awkwardly  and,  with  a  quick,  strong  motion, — 
supreme  in  the  record  it  expressed  of  latent  tenderness, 
— brushed  his  hand  lingeringly  along  the  panel  against 
which  her  hand  had  lain.  As  he  did  so  his  face  paled. 

The  next  morning  the  Ambassador  took  the  eight  A.M. 
train  for  Carembourg.  He  left  a  message  that  he  should 
be  home  for  dinner  that  night. 


CONCERNING   CAREMBOURG 

THE  ensuing  afternoon  Mrs.  Conway's  salons  were 
crowded.  A  gifted  actress  from  Milan  was  voicing  the 
synopsis  of  a  drama  to  come  off  the  following  fall  at  one 
of  the  theatres  on  the  boulevards.  She  was  a  fagged-look- 
ing woman  with  tragic  eyes  and  a  divine  smile.  She  was 
to  be  amply  remunerated  for  making  that  pampered  com- 
pany, which  was  listening  to  her  passionate  delivery  with 
interest,  experience  genuine  emotion. 

183 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

The  modern  fashionable  community  professes  the  most 
desirable  sensation  alive  to  be  contained  in  a  song,  or  a 
speech  which  makes  the  cold  shivers  run  up  and  down 
one's  spine.  In  this  particular  the  famous  Italian  actress 
more  than  filled  the  bill. 

When  the  Ambassadress  came  in,  and  the  commotion 
coincident  with  the  universal  recognition  of  her  arrival  had 
subsided,  the  Italian  was  made  aware  of  another  feather  in 
her  cap.  She  glanced  shyly  in  Mrs.  Markoe's  direction. 
She  saw  a  statuesque  face  with  heavy,  inscrutable  eyes,  the 
purest  mouth  she  ever  remembered  to  have  witnessed,  and 
a  figure  which  for  graceful  distinction  was  unique.  She 
registered  a  mental  vow  to  address  the  remainder  of  her 
performance  to  this  figure,  which  was  clad  in  a  sumptuous 
violet  creation  that  seemed  to  her  toil-hardened,  if  still 
imaginative,  spirit  to  be  composed  of  chastened  angel's 
wings. 

But  as  she  continued  her  monotone  she  discovered  to  her 
chagrin  that  the  new-comer's  spirit  was  neither  with  her 
own  speech  nor  her  own  personality.  Rather,  the  limpid 
orbs  were  fixed — a  firm  determination  in  their  direct  gaze 
— upon  a  man  in  the  corner  who  seemed  to  be  the  god  of 
that  golden  afternoon's  discourse. 

He  was  very  tall,  with  a  perfect  manner,  and  an  ease 
which  betokened  race, — the  Italian  was  reciting  magnifi- 
cently while  making  this  observation, — accompanied  by  an 
air  of  having  attained  his  present  distinction  by  right. 

She  saw  the  Ambassadress  rise,  as  though  impelled  by 
an  unseen  force,  and  advance  towards  this  man.  She  saw 
her  lay  one  gloved  hand  against  his  arm  impressively. 
She  saw  the  man  who,  a  few  minutes  afterwards,  Mrs. 
Conway,  upon  the  tragedian's  inquiry,  informed  her  was 
the  most  prominent  figure  in  the  Paris  world,  because  of  a 
play  that  he  had  recently  produced  at  the  Franjais,  which 

184 


CONCERNING  CAREMBOURG 

was  registering  a  colossal  success,  turn  and  answer  the  ques- 
tion which  had  been  put  to  him.  She  saw  him  stroll  away 
with  the  Ambassadress  out  onto  a  terrace  at  the  back, 
where  a  few  members  of  her  audience,  unable  to  hear  her, 
had  seated  themselves  unwillingly. 

She  wondered. 

Then  she  realized  she  was  but  a  spoke  in  the  social  wheel, 
whereas  the  Ambassadress  occupied  the  enviable  position 
of  the  hub.  And  she  contemplated  the  old  comedy  of 
position  versus  ability  with  mild  amusement. 

1 '  Do  I  know  Carembourg  ?' '  Lamballe  reiterated,  after 
he  had  acknowledged  the  Ambassadress's  approach  by  an 
inclination,  and  one  of  his  comprehensive  looks  which  in- 
cluded a  recognition  and  an  admiring  acknowledgment  of 
toilet  and  person.  "  It  is  my  home." 

"  I  thought  Paris  was  that?" 

He  smiled  no.  ' '  Say,  rather,  my  battle-field, ' '  he  sug- 
gested, humorously.  ' '  Carembourg  is  the  feudal  castle 
where  my  forefathers  registered  their  vows  to  their  king. 
It  is  the  nest  of  my  ambitions  as  much.  There  I  sort 
out  my  ideas.  There  I  dream  my  dreams.  There — what 
do  I  not  do  at  Carembourg?  Eat,  sleep,  and  be  merry? 
Not  so  ;  I  am  a  child  there  once  more,  with  a  posses- 
sorship  in  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth  :  with  my  early 
hope  of  heaven.  It  is  my  storehouse,  full  of  the  debris 
accumulated  from  contact  with  mankind.  I  arrange  my 
confusions,  and  deliberate  a  process  of  neatness  and  pre- 
cision subsequent  upon  the  past  winter's  rush  and  go. 
Dear  Carembourg  !  I  go  there  to-morrow,  chere  madame. ' ' 
The  end  of  his  speech  was  strikingly  abrupt.  It  was  ac- 
companied by  a  sigh  of  relief. 

' '  To-morrow  !' '  Mrs.  Markoe  was  gazing  at  him  with 
apparent  consternation. 

He  took  note  of  it,  but  appeared  not  to. 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

"  My  play  is  launched,"  he  affirmed,  modestly.  "  It  is 
high  time  I  withdrew  to  gather  substance  for  a  new  one." 

"At  Carembourg?" 

"  At  Carembourg." 

Then  he  glanced  sharply  at  the  shadowed  face  droop- 
ing before  him,  and  questioned  in  his  turn,  perfunctorily. 

4 '  You  know  Carembourg  ?' ' 

"I  know  of  it." 

"  How  so?  Oh,  to  be  sure,"  as  she  hesitated.  It  is  the 
contested  point,  he  thought.  He  presumed  she  knew  of 
that.  He  refrained,  upon  this  supposition,  to  continue  his 
eulogy.  But  she,  with  a  marked  desertion  of  her  ordinary 
tact,  insisted. 

"Is  it  a  pretty  country?  Are  there  game  preserves? 
Are  your  acres  extensive  ?' ' 

' '  All  three, ' '  he  answered,  gayly. 

' '  And  you  have  owned  the  place  for  centuries  ?' ' 

11  My  forefathers  and  I,  for  centuries." 

"  You  have  never  wished  to  dispose  of  it  ?" 

"For  what  purpose?  In  whose  name?  We  do  not 
buy  and  sell  our  homes,  chere  madame,  as  you  do  in  that 
country  of  yours,  which  shifts  so  lamentably." 

1 '  I  should  like  to  see  Carembourg, ' '  announced  Mrs. 
Markoe,  impulsively. 

Lamballe  bowed. 

"Madame  has  but  to  name  the  day,"  said  he.  "My 
chateau  is  at  her  disposal. ' ' 

Then  Mrs.  Conway  moved  towards  them  with  the  guest 
who  had  lent  her  talent  to  the  afternoon's  success,  and  who 
had  requested  an  introduction  to  the  dramatist,  Ferdinand 
Lamballe. 

"  He  was  just  asking  me,"  remarked  Mrs.  Markoe,  in  a 
very  low  voice,  "  if  I  wouldn't  come  to  Carembourg." 

1 '  How  delightful !' '  ejaculated  Mrs.  Conway.  Her  fair 

186 


CONCERNING  CAREMBOURG 

face  pinkened  like  a  pearl  rose-tinted.  The  color  receded 
slowly. 

' '  Why  not  form  a  party  and  spend  some  days  with  me, 
dear  friends,  en  villegiature  ?' '  cried  Lamballe,  enthusiasti- 
cally. 

' '  But  the  Ambassador  ?' '  protested  Mrs.  Markoe,  doubt- 
fully. 

' '  If  Monsieur  Markoe  will  but  consent  to  accept  my 
hospitality,"  said  Lamballe,  with  emphasis,  "  I  will  extend 
it  to  him  indefinitely. ' ' 

There  was  a  slight  pause. 

Events  seemed  to  them  all  to  be  tumbling  head  over 
heels. 

"  Sunday  a  week,"  urged  Lamballe,  "dependent  upon 
the  engagements  of  Monsieur  1'  Ambassadeur. " 

"  I  think  that  we  will  leave  the  invitation  an  open  ques- 
tion, dependent  upon  circumstances,"  suggested  Mrs. 
Markoe,  with  her  customary  air  of  polite  self-detachment. 

Then  she  exchanged  a  few  words  with  Mrs.  Conway 
and  bade  Lamballe  ' '  au  revoir. ' ' 

She  passed  a  little  cluster  of  chattering  women  on  her 
way  down  the  room.  They  had  surrounded  the  Duchesse 
de  Launoy,  and  were  attacking  her  from  all  sides  upon  the 
subject  of  her  famous  ball.  The  Ambassadress  arrested 
her  steps  on  the  outskirts,  highly  elated  for  a  second.  She 
laid  the  flattering  unction  to  her  soul  that  no  one  had  im- 
agined her  participation  in  the  famous  intrigue.  She  felt 
securely  convinced  that  her  discovery  of  the  second  harle- 
quin' s  identity  was  a  secret  which  she  would  carry  with  her 
to  the  grave. 

But  she  was  startled  by  the  words  which  fell  upon  her  ear. 

"The  first  one  was  mercurial  enough,"  cried  a  young 
person  in  a  rose-colored  frock  which  had  wrought  great 
havoc  at  the  Grand  Prix.  ' '  When  he  bounded  into  view, 

187 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

about  midnight,  my  heart  stood  still.  I  was  standing  with 
father  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase.  When  Mariotti  made 
his  appearance  we  both  shouted  with  delight.  Only  the 
night  before  at  my  birthday  fete  I  had  seen  him  turn  somer- 
saults from  the  fifth  to  the  first  gallery  of  his  little  play- 
house with  the  killingest  sang-froid,  my  dear,"  turning 
towards  a  sympathetic  listener  ;  ' '  but  when  he  disappeared, 
after  clambering  up  that  pillar  like  a  winged  wild-cat,  the 
impetus  of  the  night  died  out  for  me.  It  all  seemed  dull, 
stale,  unprofitable.  Then  you,"  turning  to  the  Duchesse, 
who  was  listening  to  her  chatter  with  amused  eyes, — "  you 
had  contracted  for  the  whole  pantomime,  rang  up  the  cur- 
tain for  the  second  act." 

"  I  ?"  protested  the  Duchesse.  ' '  But  I  assure  you  I 
had  nothing  whatsoever  to  do  with  it.  It  was  all  Mariotti 
or  all  Monsieur  Lamballe.  I  shall  never  be  quite  able  to 
determine  which." 

1 '  Who  was  the  third  harlequin,  then  ?' '  inquired  the 
young  woman  in  the  pink  frock. 

"Yes,  that  is  the  question,"  they  all  buzzed.  "  Harle- 
quin, harlequin,  catch  the  harlequin.  Who  was  the  third 
harlequin  ?' ' 

' '  The  one  who  glided  out  of  that  corridor  like  a  ghost 
and  confronted  the  second  Mariotti  on  the  staircase  ?' ' 

' '  It  must  have  been  Mariotti  himself, ' '  suggested  the 
Duchesse. 

' '  Impossible.  He  was  not  lively  enough,  in  the  first 
place— 

' '  Nor  mischievous  at  all,  in  the  second. ' ' 

"Besides,  he  slipped  away  when  the  effect  had  been 
made.  I  saw  him  with  my  own  eyes  glide  down  a  corri- 
dor with  the  prettiest  Folly  alive, — a  mask  in  rainbow 
colors,  with  a  three-cornered  cap  all  rhine  stones  and  bells, 
and  the  tiniest  feet  and  twinkling  ankles. ' ' 

1 88 


CONCERNING  CAREMBOURG 

"  If  I  were  a  matron  instead  of  one  of  those  miserable 
beings  inured  to  perpetual  chaperonage, "  protested  the 
rose-colored  young  person,  ' '  I  would  privately  interview 
Mariotti  myself  in  person  and  discover  the  identity  of  his 
second  double." 

"  How  would  you  find  him  ?" 

' '  I  would  address  myself  to  his  play-house,  my  dear, 
and  serenely  demand  an  interview.  Nothing  dared,  noth- 
ing have." 

Mrs.  Markoe  moved  away,  thoughtfully. 

On  her  way  out  she  was  assailed  by  her  friends.  Was 
she  to  be  at  the  English  Embassy  ball  that  night?  Had 
she  seen  the  new  American  painter's  chef-d' ceuvre  at  the 
Salon  since  the  alterations  had  been  made  at  the  sugges- 
tion of  the  French  society  of  artists?  Didn't  she  think 
the  political  imbroglio  at  the  Chamber  disgraceful  in  a 
civilized  nation  ? 

When  she  stepped  into  her  brougham,  she  ordered  the 
footman  to  turn  the  horses'  heads  cityward,  instead  of,  as 
was  her  every-day  custom,  in  the  direction  of  the  Bois. 

She  gave  an  address  in  a  low,  tense  voice. 

Her  brougham  drew  up  a  few  moments  later  before  a 
florist's  in  the  Rue  Royale. 

"  I  shan't  drive  this  afternoon,"  Mrs.  Markoe  announced 
to  her  coachman.  "  You  may  go  home  ;  I  need  exercise." 

Then  she  turned  and  entered  the  flower-shop. 


189 


A  NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 
CHAPTER    XXIV 

AN   UNGUARDED    PROCEEDING 

SHE  stepped  out  of  it  three  minutes  later,  cautiously. 
She  drew  a  relieved  sigh  when  she  had  mastered  the  fact 
that  her  own  carriage  was  just  turning  the  corner.  Quietly 
drawing  a  thick  veil  from  her  pocket,  she  tied  it  on  hastily 
and  hailed  a  cab.  She  ordered  the  cocher  to  drive  her  to 
the  ticket  office  of  a  small  theatre  which  she  had  heard 
of,  but  never  frequented. 

When  she  arrived  there,  she  paid  the  cocher  for  the 
course  and  dismissed  him,  after  having  been  informed  by 
an  urchin,  whom  she  feed  largely  to  obtain  the  desired  in- 
formation, that  Monsieur  Mariotti  was  ' '  chez  lui. ' ' 

After  watching  the  fiacre  out  of  sight,  she  turned  and 
climbed  a  flight  of  evil-smelling  stairs  to  the  left  of  a 
tobacco-shop,  where  two  or  three  cochers  in  the  buff  cloth 
coats  and  white  rubber  hats  of  the  Urbaine  livery  were 
noisily  disputing  over  a  bottle  of  vin  ordinaire  and  a  game 
of  picquet. 

She  knocked  on  a  dingy  door  surmounted  with  the  name 
Mariotti  in  letters  three  inches  high,  and  gilded  heavily. 
She  entered  upon  the  invitation  of  a  coarse  voice,  which 
cried,  "Entrez." 

Mariotti  was  seated  before  a  table  with  a  pack  of  dirty 
cards  before  him.  He  was  telling  his  fortune. 

He  sprang  to  his  feet  as  the  unexpected  feminine  figure 
made  itself  evident,  and  asked  his  visitor  her  business. 

' '  The  present  interview, ' '  she  began,  in  a  muffled  voice, 
"is  to  be  considered  strictly  private. ' ' 

Mariotti  raised  his  heavy  eyebrows.      He  loved  intrigue 

190 


AN   UNGUARDED   PROCEEDING 

the  way  a  mouse  loves  cheese, — because  its  spice  consisted 
mainly  of  the  forbidden.  He  lifted  himself  on  tiptoe  and 
made  his  way  cautiously  towards  the  greasy  door,  against 
which  he  laid  his  ear. 

Then  he  turned  to  his  chair  with  his  finger  against  his 
lips.  His  carpet  slippers  dragged  out  a  weary  accompani- 
ment against  the  slop-stained  floor. 

Mrs.  Markoe  shuddered  mentally. 

She  took  out  her  purse  and  extracted  fifty  francs  from  it. 
She  laid  the  money  on  the  table  and  pushed  it  towards 
Mariotti  silently. 

She  said  clearly,  ' '  I  have  a  few  questions  to  ask  of 
you.  I  will  require  the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing 
but  the  truth." 

Mariotti  nodded. 

"Night  before  last,"  she  began  distinctly,  her  voice 
shaking  a  little,  ' '  the  Duchesse  de  Launoy  gave  a  ball ; 
there  were  three  Mariottis  there,  I  have  been  informed.  My 
paramount  question  is,  which  Mariotti  were  you  ?' ' 

Mariotti  grinned  ;  then  he  shuffled  his  heels  against  the 
rungs  of  his  chair  and  answered,  fingering  the  fifty-franc 
bill  indifferently  as  he  did  so, — 

"  I  go  in  first.  It  is  about  twelve  o'  clock.  Lamballe  is 
not  arrive.  He  is  not  to  come  until  I  leave.  That  is  the 
agreement.  The  idea  is  that  he  be  taken  for  Mariotti  after 
I  enter  and  make  myself  known.  His  representation  falls 
flat.  He  might  have  know  it  would,"  in  the  regretful  tone 
of  a  specialist  who  has  witnessed  a  great  opportunity  lost. 
"  Besides  the  difference  in  our  ages,  my  illustrious  patron, 
he  is  unfit  to  compete  with  me. ' '  He  slapped  himself  on 
his  chest,  which  had  inflated  like  the  breast  of  an  extremely 
ill-groomed  peacock. 

"Yes,  yes.     But  how  about  the  third  Mariotti  ?" 

Mariotti  flashed  a  hurt  glance  in  the  direction  of  his  in- 

191 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

terlocutor.  It  was  evident  he  considered  her  question  as 
oblique  as  its  subject-matter. 

"  Of  the  third  Mariotti,"  pronounced  he,  magnificently, 
with  a  flourish  of  contempt,  one  dirty  finger  laid  against 
his  nose  with  an  expression  of  cunning,  ' '  I  concern  not 
myself.  He  encounters  me  at  night.  He  strips  me  of  my 
costume  ;  of  my  honor.  He  offends  my  illustrious  patron. 
Monsieur  Lamballe  has  not  been  of  late  to  witness  my  per- 
formance. Since  the  affair  at  the  Duchesse's  they  are  at- 
tended by  the  elite.  But  Lamballe,  he  not  vouchsafe  a 
word.  A  sure  sign  he  is  displease. ' ' 

Mrs.  Markoe  frowned  restlessly. 

' '  You  sold  your  costume  to  the  third  harlequin, ' '  she 
persisted  then,  ' '  after  you  had  made  yourself  known  at  the 
Duchesse's  ;  before  Monsieur  Lamballe  put  in  an  appear- 
ance ?' ' 

"Exactly  so." 

' '  What  became  of  the  third  Mariotti  ?' '  inquired  Mrs. 
Markoe,  with  emphasis. 

She  awaited  Mariotti' s  reply  with  palpitating  anxiety. 

He  accorded  it  wordlessly  by  lifting  his  shoulders  to  the 
lobes  of  his  ears,  raising  his  eyebrows  to  the  roots  of  his 
hair,  pursing  out  his  lips  with  a  quizzical  grimace,  and  ex- 
tending his  hands,  their  palms  upward. 

' '  You  mean  you  do  not  know  ?' ' 

"I  do  not  know." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  You  can  make  no  surmise?" 

' '  How  is  that  possible  ?  The  third  Mariotti  encounter 
me  in  the  Duchesse's  garden  just  as  I  was  about  to  make 
my  exit.  He  whisper  in  my  ear  that  he  is  a  friend.  Base 
subterfuge  !  He  lure  me  to  a  kiosque  at  the  corner  of  the 
Champs- Elys6es.  He  demand  the  costume  I  wear  for  a 
mere  pittance.  Pour  rien  !  Saperlotte,  say  I,  I  have  a 

192 


AN   UNGUARDED   PROCEEDING 

better  one  at  home.  Why  not  give  the  pauvre  diable  a 
chance  to  amuse  himself  ?  Then  I  think  he  has  no  right 
to  my  thunder.  I  demur.  He  insist.  The  exchange  is 
made.  For  a  song,"  regretfully,  and  with  the  air  of  a 
generous  soul  which  had  been  overreached. 

' '  Where  did  he  leave  you  ?' '  The  tone  was  weak, 
spent,  hopeless. 

' '  He  dragged  me  with  him  to  the  back  room  of  a  house 
where  my  friend,  the  director  of  the  Fricandeau,  lives," 
mentioning  the  name  of  a  famous  cafe  chantant ;  "  there  he 
divest  himself  of  his  superfluous  garments,  attire  himself 
in  mine  ;  make  away.  I  protest.  I  cry.  I  implore — in 
vain.  He  is  a  low  dog  with  some  mauvaise  intention 
against  Lamballe  in  his  veins.  I  become  afterwards  sure. 
Of  that  fear  I  feel  my  veins  congealing.  But  as  the 
thought  strike  me — he  is  off. ' ' 

' '  Then  ?' '    The  voice  was  strident,  harassed,  ungoverned. 

"That  is  all,"  finished  Mariotti,  with  a  grimace. 

"  But  he  must  have  returned  if,  as  you  say,  he  left  his 
clothes  in  the  room  to  which  you  conducted  him,  to  alter 
his  costume." 

Mariotti  was  silent.  With  a  fine  smile  he  was  curling 
the  fifty-franc  note  about  his  forefinger. 

Mrs.  Markoe  drew  her  jewelled  purse  from  her  pocket — 
a  gold-linked  one  with  a  monogram  of  rubies  set  in  the 
top — and  extracted  another  fifty  francs. 

' '  You  would  be  wise, ' '  she  said,  softly,  ' '  to  tell  me  the 
whole  of  your  experience  in  this  transaction.  I  can 
promise  you,  you  will  lose  nothing  in  the  operation." 

Mariotti  mellowed  visibly. 

He  leaned  forward,  and,  folding  the  new  note  carefully 
against  the  old  one,  he  slid  the  two  slowly  into  his  vest- 
pocket. 

"  As  far  as  I  know"  said  he,  "  he  did  not  return," 
13  *93 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

"And  his  clothes?" 

' '  There  are  no  clothes  in  the  house  of  which  I  speak 
which  at  all  answer  to  his  clothes  description.  Either  he 
made  off  in  the  ones  he  borrow  of  me,  or  he  return,  after 
my  departure,  for  his  own.  I  swear  to  you,  kind  lady, 
that  even  address  you  yourself  to  the  place  I  mention,  you 
find — rien  !" 

Mrs.  Markoe  rose. 

1 '  Have  you  any  idea, ' '  she  inquired,  as  she  moved 
towards  the  door,  "of  the  third  Mariotti's  identity?" 

' '  Aucune. ' ' 

"I  thank  you." 

She  prepared  to  open  the  door  and  step  across  the 
threshold,  when  the  Gascon  crept  up  close  to  her  and  whis- 
pered softly,  ' '  He  was  tall ;  his  voice  was  a  foreign  voice. 
He  laugh  at  me.  He  steal  my  clothes.  I  hate  him  !" 

Mrs.  Markoe  recoiled.  For  some  mysterious  reason  her 
heart  beat  uncontrollably.  The  black  snaky  eyes  of  the 
trapeze  performer  were  thrust  wickedly  towards  her  veiled 
face.  Some  words  hissed  forth,  a  mortal  defiance  under- 
lying them. 

"Let  me  pass,"  she  commanded,  peremptorily. 

Mariotti  stepped  back,  muttering  between  his  dark 
broken  teeth.  She  opened  the  door  with  a  spasmodic 
effort.  She  descended  the  stairs,  expecting  every  moment 
4:o  hear  Mariotti's  light  footfall  behind  her.  But  in  this 
she  was  happily  disappointed. 

The  neighborhood  was  a  filthy  one.  The  little  play- 
house's fa9ade  shone  out  meretriciously  between  the  frame 
work  of  dingy  buildings  which  stood  in  rows  each  side  of 
it. 

Mrs.  Markoe  hailed  a  cab,  and  stepping  into  it,  drove 
within  half  a  block  of  her  own  home.  She  alighted,  paid 
the  cocher  for  the  course,  divested  herself  of  her  veil,  and 

194 


AN   UNGUARDED   PROCEEDING 

as  she  entered  her  hallway  asked  the  footman  if  the 
Ambassador  had  returned. 

"Monsieur  1'Ambassadeur  had  been  chez  lui  just  five 
minutes, ' '  she  was  assured. 

Mrs.  Markoe  slowly  made  her  way  towards  the  library. 

After  his  visitor  had  turned  the  corner  of  that  dingy 
street  in  which  was  the  play-house,  which  drew  a*  vaster 
crowd  than  any  dwelling  of  its  size  in  the  district,  Mariotti 
slid  from  an  alley-way  near  by  and,  flinging  himself  into  a 
passing  fiacre,  followed  her.  He  waited  until  her  carriage 
stopped  in  the  Avenue  Marceau,  slid  to  the  ground,  and 
silently  insinuated  himself  between  her  and  the  gutter  until 
she  had  entered  the  courtyard  of  the  private  hotel  over 
which  swung  the  tricolored  emblem  of  the  United  States. 
Then,  as  she  disappeared,  he  regarded  the  house  stealthily. 
He  withdrew  from  his  dingy  pocket  a  dirty  piece  of  crum- 
pled paper  and,  with  a  stubby  pencil,  printed  on  it  clearly  61 
Avenue  Marceau.  Then,  cramming  it  into  his  pocket,  he 
carelessly  darted  on  his  way  past  the  fiacre  which  was  wait- 
ing for  him  into  a  neighboring  chemist's,  where  he  bought 
a  stick  of  licorice  for  a  sou  while  putting  some  questions  in 
regard  to  the  occupants  of  the  surrounding  houses,  called 
at  the  tobacconist' s  to  request  a  light,  and  walked  boldly 
into  the  grocer's  on  the  corner  to  buy  a  candle.  While 
consummating  his  purchase  he  demanded  inquisitively  the 
ostensible  income  of  the  United  States  Ambassador. 

The  grocer,  a  garrulous  person,  who  got  more  entertain- 
ment out  of  his  exorbitance  than  his  clients  ever  obtained 
by  purchasing  his  over-priced  goods,  whispered  a  fortui- 
tous number  with  the  air  of  a  trustworthy  personage  who 
absorbs  billions  as  his  customary  mental  diet. 

Mariotti  made  off  as  though  the  information  he  had 
received  was  of  small  importance. 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

Arrived  at  the  corner  of  the  street  he  handed  his  driver 
a  franc,  and  receiving  in  exchange  a  curse,  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  carefully  stuffed  his  candle  and  licorice  in  his 
pocket,  and,  to  the  cocher's  consternation,  flung  his  heels 
into  the  air,  and  walked  serenely  on  the  palms  of  his  hands 
across  the  roadway  with  its  myriad  carts,  bicycles,  tramways, 
and  motor  cars,  until  he  reached  the  bridge  which  spanned 
the  Seine.  Then  as  a  small  urchin  recognized  him  in 
frantic  glee  and  began  shouting  his  name,  Mariotti  placed 
his  finger  to  the  side  of  his  nose  with  a  warning  gesture, 
turned  a  somersault  with  a  gliding  motion,  and  disappeared 
over  the  bridge's  parapet,  going  head  downward  ! 

There  was  a  shout  of  trepidation  from  the  bustling 
throng,  which  had  begun  to  gather  as  the  fantastic  figure 
made  its  fanciful  way  across  the  street. 

As  Mariotti' s  body  swung  over  the  parapet  the  crowd 
rushed  forward  to  look  over  onto  what  they  supposed  might 
be  his  stark  and  quivering  body  lying  against  the  stones 
many  feet  beneath. 

Instead  their  anxious  gaze  fell  on  a  lithe  elastic  body,  its 
hands  plunged  deep  in  its  pockets,  swinging  nonchalantly 
along  the  lower  quai. 

MP 

CHAPTER    XXV 

A    DISCLOSURE 

MRS.  MARKOE  did  not  wait  to  knock.  She  opened  the 
door  softly  and  looked  in.  She  saw  her  husband's  figure 
standing  before  the  window  with  its  back  towards  her.  She 
swung  the  door  wider,  stepped  across  the  threshold,  and 
closed  it  behind  her. 

The  Ambassador  turned. 

196 


A  DISCLOSURE 

He  saw  her  standing,  where  she  had  stood  last  night 
supplicatingly,  this  afternoon  attired  superbly  in  a  violet 
creation  which  set  off  her  beauty  to  rare  advantage  and 
emphasized  her  expression  of  self-control.  The  conviction 
which  had  been  with  him  all  day  that  her  nature  was  soften- 
ing, that  he  might  hope  some  day  for  a  complete  cessation 
of  hostilities  at  least,  vanished.  He  saw  the  familiar,  weary 
problem  of  defiance  strong  as  ever  in  its  attitude  of  inde- 
pendence. He  did  not  know  his  wife  had  assumed  it,  in 
more  forcible  evidence  than  ever  now,  to  conceal  a  horrible 
feeling  of  abject  apprehension. 

' '  Have  you  any  news  ?' '  she  asked. 

"  None,"  he  returned,  shortly.  He  turned  towards  the 
window  again.  She  persistently  came  round  between  him 
and  the  view  it  commanded,  and  looked  straight  up  into  his 
face.  His  was  tired  and  worn.  The  day  had  been  an  anx- 
ious one.  He  felt  checkmated  ;  he  had  not  yet  considered 
his  next  move. 

' '  What  course  did  you  pursue  ?' ' 

"  The  only  one  :  I  interviewed  the  innkeeper  in  vain.  I 
saw  the  ticket-master  at  the  station.  He  might  have  aided 
us,  for,  though  I  do  not  believe  Conway  could  have  deserted 
his  post,  still  there  is  the  possible  chance  that  he  might  have 
taken  the  wrong  route,  and  been  run  across  by  some  one 
either  approaching  or  leaving  the  station. ' ' 

She  was  listening  with  drooping  lids.  As  he  had  returned 
her  vivid  gaze  her  own  serenity  had  broken  up  and  shifted. 
Markoe  registered  her  self-consciousness  with  scant  atten- 
tiveness.  He  had  just  cause  to  remember  it  later. 

' '  The  innkeeper  slept  too  soundly,  it  seems,  that  night. 
The  station-master  felt  ill,  and  transferred  his  duties  to  the 
care  of  a  friend  who  does  not  remember  that  anybody 
passed  through  the  station  to  the  train.  All  he  has  recol- 
lected thus  far  is  the  fact  of  the  storm.  That,  he  said, 

197 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

completely  dazed  him.  Burgess  fancies  there  has  been  foul 
play.  I  think,  perhaps  his  surmise  may  be  correct." 

' '  What  will  you  do  ?' ' 

"  Employ  a  detective.  He  will  root  the  matter  out  in  no 
time." 

Mrs.  Markoe  drew  a  short,  audible  breath. 

' '  Does  his  mother  know  ?' '  she  asked. 

Markoe  frowned.  ' '  I  cannot  see, ' '  he  ejaculated,  ' '  why 
she  should  know.  It  would  cause  her  profound  uneasiness. 
If  the  young  fellow  turns  up,  which  he  will  very  shortly,  let 
us  hope,  it  will  be  time  enough  to  inform  his  mother  of  it. ' ' 

' '  I  think  she  should  be  told  at  once. ' ' 

' '  As  you  will, ' '  coincided  Markoe. 

Mrs.  Markoe  hesitated.  "Will  you  tell  her?"  she 
pleaded,  timidly. 

' '  I  think  you  may  assume  that  responsibility, ' '  returned 
the  Ambassador,  dryly. 

His  wife  flushed  painfully.  A  frightened  look  came  into 
her  eyes.  Then  they  filled  with  tears. 

' '  As  you  will, ' '  she  complied. 

Five  hours  later  Markoe  was  closeted  with  the  chief  of 
the  Paris  detective  force,  and  two  days  subsequent  to  that 
interview  Lubin  returned  from  Carembourg,  and  was  imme- 
diately admitted  to  the  Ambassador' s  presence. 

"  It's  a  curious  affair  all  round,"  vouchsafed  this  interest- 
ing visitor.  He  was  a  short,  squarely-built  personage  with  a 
cunning  expression,  and  hair  chopped  off  short  in  front  and 
sides,  and  left  comparatively  long  in  the  back, — a  hirsute 
adornment  which  gave  him  the  air  of  a  sanctimonious  prel- 
ate behind  and  the  profile  of  an  irreverent  urchin.  ' '  I 
have  made  one  step  in  a  direction  which  balks  me  con- 
siderably. It  is  my  impression  that  Monsieur  Conway 
came  up  to  Paris  the  loth  of  June,  after  leaving  the  inn  in 
ostensible  search  for  the  dividing  line  and  the  chalk-banks. ' ' 

198 


A  DISCLOSURE 

"Why  so?" 

"The  ticket  agent's  friend  has  remembered  at  last,  after 
an  exhausting  cross-examination,  that  a  man  did  come  into 
the  station.  He  bought  a  ticket  for  Paris  the  evening  of 
the  loth  of  June.  He  was  muffled  to  the  chin.  His  ac- 
count of  the  traveller's  costume  tallies  precisely  with  your 
surveyor's  description  of  the  one  in  which  Monsieur  Con- 
way  was  attired  when  he  set  forth.  A  slouch  hat  pulled 
well  over  the  eyes,  a  muffler  covering  the  chin,  a  pair  of 
high  boots  splashed  with  mud,  and  a  bag  slung  across  one 
shoulder.  Not  the  attire  of  a  gentleman,  perhaps,  but  at 
least  a  disguise.  The  man  bought  a  ticket  for  Paris, ' '  con- 
cluded the  detective. 

"  For  Paris  !  But  that  fact  alone  should  declare  your 
discovery  to  be  a  worthless  one.  Conway  had  but  just  left 
Paris  two  days  before.  There  was  nothing  to  call  him  back 
until  his  mission  was  accomplished.  He  is  not  a  bungler. 
He  is  a  clean-cut  young  fellow,  enthusiastically  anxious  to 
prove  himself  of  value.  The  supposition  must  be  incorrect. 
There  were  probably  a  number  of  persons  who  took  the 
evening  train  for  Paris  the  loth  of  June." 

' '  Pardon  me.     There  was  but  one. ' ' 

' '  You  are  sure  ?' ' 

' '  The  ticket  agent' s  register  confirms  this.  So  does  the 
conductor.  There  was  but  one  ticket  for  Paris  sold  and 
taken  up  the  night  of  the  loth.  A  ticket  to  which  was 
attached  a  return. ' ' 

"A  return?"  incredulously. 

' '  Monsieur  seems  astonished.  What  more  natural  than 
that  Monsieur  Conway  should  have  desired  to  confirm  his 
own  possible  winnings  in  regard  to  the  Grand  Prix  !  He 
could  have  come  up  to  Paris  by  night  and  returned  to 
Carembourg  the  next  morning." 

' '  Natural,  perhaps,  but  not  probable.  I  know  Conway,  I 

199 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

tell  you.  He  was  spoiling  for  immediate  action  when  he 
left  here.  I  would  stake  my  oath  that  he  is  not  the  man  to 
desert  his  post." 

The  detective  lifted  his  eyebrows  sceptically.  ' '  Men  are 
not  always  responsible  for  their  actions.  If  they  were  so, 
our  profession  would  suffer.  There  might  have  been  some 
cause  which  monsieur  has  not  taken  into  consideration." 

The  Ambassador  changed  his  position  uncomfortably. 
The  idea  had  flashed  across  his  own  mind.  He  dismissed 
it  peremptorily. 

"There  is  but  one  thing  to  be  done,"  he  stated,  shortly. 
' '  You  must  work  up  your  side  of  the  case  from  the  railway- 
station  ticket  into  Paris  and  back  again,  if  necessary.  I 
will,  if  it  is  imperative,  consult  Lamballe." 

The  latter  phrase  was  uttered  regretfully.  Markoe  was 
desirous  of  putting  the  entire  detective  force  at  work  before 
disclosing  his  need  to  his  antagonist.  But  he  recognized 
in  case  of  imperious  need  one  must  employ  a  desperate 
remedy  :  that  to  obtain  adequate  influence  he  must  reveal 
his  own  hand.  Perhaps  it  might  induce  Lamballe  to  do 
likewise.  In  this  matter  the  eminent  Parisian  had  it  in  his 
power  to  be  supreme. 

The  Ambassadress  never  felt  so  much  like  an  adminis- 
trator of  incarnate  cruelty  as  she  did  that  golden  afternoon 
four  weeks  later  when  she  unsettled  her  friend's  calm  by 
inserting  the  wedge  of  the  same  hideous  doubt  which  was 
so  bitterly  assailing  her  own  soul.  Mrs.  Conway's  face  was 
such  a  serene  face.  It  carried  its  own  story ;  it  commanded 
forbearance  ;  it  seemed  to  have  reached  the  end  of  en- 
durance :  such  a  beautiful,  intrinsically  patient  face  with  the 
wide,  gentle  brows,  and  the  level  eyes,  and  the  proud  lips. 
How  could  she  break  up  that  calm  to  put  in  its  place  war- 
ring anguish,  Kate  Markoe  asked  herself,  with  a  rebellious 

200 


A  DISCLOSURE 

ache  clamoring  within  her  not  to  reveal  the  truth  when 
peace  and  security  might  even  now,  through  some  unex- 
pected stroke  of  destiny,  be  weaving  into  place  once  more. 

They  were  driving  round  the  lake  in  the  Bois,  with  its 
miniature  boats  and  its  artificial  touches  of  trained  nature. 
They  passed  the  great  barouche  of  the  English  Ambassador, 
who  saluted  the  two  stately  women  impressively.  They  saw 
Condorcet  in  a  high  English  cart  with  the  Princesse.  Later 
they  met  Lamballe  in  his  own  victoria,  chatting  earnestly 
with  a  careworn-looking  man  who  was  seated  beside  him. 

' '  Tell  me  about  Jack, ' '  Kate  Markoe  said,  swallowing 
something  in  her  throat  with  an  effort,  leaning  forward,  and 
pressing  her  gloved  hand  against  Mrs.  Conway's,  which  lay 
on  the  carriage  seat  between  them. 

Jack's  mother  smiled  proudly. 

"It's  time  he  was  back,  isn't  it?"  she  asked,  wistfully. 
' '  Let  him  tell  you  himself  of  the  day  he  rescued  that  old 
fisherman  from  drowning  at  Newport  when  he  was  only 
twelve  years  old." 

' '  He  never  told  me  that !' '   cried  the  Ambassadress. 

' '  Of  the  day  I  found  him,  in  speech  a  silver-tongued  baby 
orator,  lecturing  a  beggar  lad  who  had  bullied  a  cruel  boy. ' ' 

"Of  course,  he  never  told  me  that  either,"  said  Mrs. 
Markoe. 

' '  No, ' '  returned  his  mother.  ' '  Jack  only  tells  the 
needless  parts  ;  the  useless  role  he  plays  in  life  ;  the  singu- 
larity of  a  destiny  which  seems  all  fulfilled.  You  know. 
We  have  so  many  of  that  class  in  our  country,  Kate.  It 
requires  considerable  self-abnegation  for  a  boy  or  girl 
brought  up  in  luxury  to  first  establish  their  altars  and  their 
fires,  and  then  fight  for  them.  Character  is  a  world  within 
a  world.  There  is  the  character  we  are  born  with  and 
the  character  circumstance  makes  ;  but  say  there  are  no 
craggy  circumstances,  figuratively  speaking ;  say  one's  way 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

is  so  softened  that  fibre  deteriorates  instead  of  strengthening 
with  use  and  abuse.  It  seems  to  me,  up  to  the  present, 
that  has  been  Jack's  case.  I  glory  in  the  fact  that  he  has 
fretted  against  it.  I  hope  this  present  exigency  will  bring 
forth  all  his  energy,  all  his  will-power,  and  will  create  a 
fury  of  protest  within  him  that  will  bear  upon  his  whole 
future  life." 

She  was  speaking  dreamily.  Thinking  aloud.  Why 
not  ?  She  and  Kate  Markoe  had  established  the  sweetest 
mutual  understanding  between  them.  If  the  Ambassadress 
had  been  the  one  to  set  the  mother's  fancy  rolling  in  the 
direction  of  her  boy  since  his  absence,  Mrs.  Conway,  when 
she  considered  the  matter,  concluded  gratefully  that  the 
gentle  hint  was  only  an  evidence  of  her  friend's  tact  to 
lead  her  into  beloved  rather  than  distasteful  by-paths.  She 
went  on, — 

"  I  wish  the  Carembourg  matter  would  ripen,"  she  said. 
"  I  wonder  how  it  has  gone  with  him.  Will  I  ever  estab- 
lish callousness  in  this  maternal  heart  of  mine  ?  Ah,  me  ! 
How  weak  we  women  are,  and  how  much  more  than  loving  ! 
My  heart  throbs  with  as  much  anxiety  when  Jack  is  far 
from  me  as  in  those  days  when  they  took  him  from  my 
arms  as  a  baby,  if  only  to  give  him  back  cooing  and  rosy 
from  his  bath." 

"  I  have  something  to  say  to  you,"  began  Kate  Markoe 
in  a  broken  voice. 

Mrs.  Conway  concurred  comfortably.  She  turned  tow- 
ards her  friend, — to  remember  long  afterwards  how  very 
white  her  face  had  seemed  ;  but  then,  it  never  had  much 
color  in  it.  The  skin  was  so  ravishingly  fair  and  trans- 
parent. "I  thought  so,"  she  returned,  gently.  "There 
is  something  on  your  mind.  It  seems  to  me  I  have  almost 
seen  you  grow  thinner  perceptibly  within  the  past  few  days. 
What  is  it?" 


A  DISCLOSURE 

' '  Late  hours,  possibly.  I  have  been  overdoing  ;  but 
that  is  not " 

' '  Some  gnawing  worry, ' '  suggested  Mrs.  Conway,  help- 
fully. ' '  Some  little  womanly  ailment.  Out  with  it,  dear 
heart.  An  illusion  nonplussed  ?  Then  more' s  the  pity.  Ah  ! 
we  women  with  our  great  steadfast  ideals,  and  our  conscious- 
ness of  how  very  far  indeed  from  sweetness  the  thing  is  in 
reality.  Come.  Stephen  has  not  responded  to  your  latest 
whim  ?  Jack  is  not  here  to  spoil  you.  He  spoils  us  all. ' ' 

' '  I  wonder, ' '  whispered  Kate  Markoe,  growing  still  paler, 
' '  why  he  does  not  return  ?' ' 

It  was  weeks  later.  She  had  hoped  the  lapse  of  time 
might  have  opened  Mrs.  Conway' s  eyes.  But  she  had 
seemed  oddly  trustful.  This  was  the  first  time  Mrs.  Mar- 
koe had  dared  mouth  the  awful  apprehension  which  was 
making  of  her  a  thing  of  ice  and  anguish  with  frozen  blood 
and  melting  flesh. 

Mrs.  Conway  lifted  her  sunshade  to  ward  off  the  rays  of 
the  burning  July  sun.  The  carriage  turned  into  a  narrow 
by-path  away  from  the  congested  Avenue  des  Acacias. 

"  I  am  horribly  anxious,"  whispered  the  weighted  voice 
beside  her. 

Mrs.  Conway  started.  ' '  But  Stephen  knows  his  where- 
abouts. ' ' 

' '  Stephen  does  not. ' ' 

"You  mean — what  a  preciously  sympathetic  creature 
you  are,  Kate  !" 

' '  Yes, ' '  answered  Kate,  dully. 

"Aren't  you  worrying  yourself  unduly?  To  be  sure, 
the  matter  was  to  have  been  consummated  in  two  days, 
and  that  is  long  ago,  but  Stephen  has  always  put  me  off 
when  I  spoke  of  it,  and  told  me  Jack  had  a  way  of  doing 
things  which  would  not  brook  interference." 

"He  has,  indeed." 

203 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

' '  And  it  has  been  four  weeks. ' ' 

' '  Four  weeks  and  five  days. ' ' 

There  was  a  note  in  the  constrained  voice  which  sud- 
denly broke  Mrs.  Conway's  serenity  straight  across.  She 
looked  right  at  her  companion  ;  at  the  eyes  with  the 
bruised  lines  underneath  them,  which  she  had  remarked 
and  puzzled  over  for  days  ;  at  the  hand  busy  fastening  a 
stray  lock  of  hair  which  the  wind  had  loosened.  Was 
the  gesture  meant  to  hide  the  delicate  pallor  of  the  face 
which  now  she  began  to  scrutinize  piercingly  ;  a  protest 
welling  up  in  her  which  was  formidably  cruel,  tearing  her 
pace  in  shreds,  upsetting  her  hardly  acquired  patience  ? 

Had  she  been  blind,  deaf,  and  dumb  ? 

' '  Is  there  cause  for  anxiety,  Kate  ?' ' 

Mrs.  Markoe  let  her  hand  fall,  and  looked  back  into  her 
friend's  face  pitifully.  She  felt  like  the  assassin  of  mother 
and  son. 

' '  I  have  been  very  anxious, ' '  she  said,  brokenly,  ' '  for 
four  weeks  and  three  days.  Stephen  has  counselled 
patience.  Patience  !' '  with  a  choked  cry.  ' '  But  I — 
something  has  told  me  that  the  thing  is  not  as  it  should 
be.  It  was  so  simple,  I  tell  you."  She  seemed  pleading 
against  some  violent  consciousness  which  was  striving  to 
burst  through  her  speech.  She  forced  the  confession 
down  with  an  iron  hand  as  she  had  done  before.  "He 
left  Burgess,  it  seems,  the  night  before  they  were  to  re- 
turn with  their  report ;  left  him  in  a  storm  ;  set  forth  in 
search  of  some  dividing  line." 

"That  is  just  like  my  Jack,"  broke  in  the  mother's 
fond,  breathless  voice. 

' '  Oh,  hush !    He  did  not  return ;  he  never  has  returned. ' ' 

"  Since  which  ?"  Was  that  Mrs.  Conway's  voice.  It 
was  a  hoarse  whisper. 

"  There  has  been  everything  done.  The  detective  force 

204 


A   DISCLOSURE 

is  hard  at  work.  Stephen  is  conducting  the  affair  step  by 
step  ;  he  is  giving  his  personal  attention  to  it.  He  does 
not  sleep  night  or  day. ' ' 

"And?" 

' '  There  is  no  clue.     We  are  at  a  loss ' ' 

The  wind  lifted  the  lace  on  Mrs.  Conway's  parasol. 
She  saw  through  it  a  landscape  fraught  with  spring-time 
and  hope, — or  what  seemed  hope, — wherein  a  little  lad  with 
golden  curls  and  a  glowing  face  lit  by  a  pair  of  Spanish 
eyes  stood  with  his  fists  clinched,  looking  down  on  a 
broken  toy  at  his  feet.  ' '  But  I  will  buy  another  soon, 
little  laddie,"  she  heard  her  own  tender  voice  saying.  He 
stamped  his  little  foot.  ' '  Muzzers  aren'  t  sojers, ' '  he  said, 
wickedly.  ' '  I  want  my  sojer  now.  I  has  my  muzzer 
every  day.  Jack's  tired  of  muzzer.  He  wants  sojer." 

It  had  been  the  incipient  cry  of  the  masculine  gender  for 
space  and  action.  And  she  had  fretted  that  his  way  had 
not  been  a  stormy  one  ;  she  had  urged  him  to  find  an  op- 
portunity. She  had  bid  him  spurn  a  life  of  ease  to  create 
something  worth  while  in  its  stead.  Was  this  worth 
while?  A  futile  mission  :  loss  ;  disaster  ;  nothingness. 

' '  Oh,  we  poor  women  !' '  she  cried. 

It  was  the  only  moan  she  voiced  aloud. 

But  her  listener  knew  that  the  words  contained  an  infini- 
tude of  woe.  It  meant  that  woman's  portion  now  and 
forever  is  to  wait  patiently,  prayerfully,  and  helplessly. 

"We  will  go  home,"  she  said,  quietly,  to  the  footman. 

When  they  drove  up  in  front  of  her  entresol  in  the 
Avenue  d'  I6na  she  turned  and  looked  back  at  the  figure 
she  had  left  in  the  carriage.  Her  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 
The  door,  stretched  wide  by  an  obsequious  domestic,  fell 
open.  It  disclosed  the  broad  staircase  bordered  with  pots 
of  flowering  plants.  Some  guns,  their  steel  barrels  glisten- 
ing in  the  rays  of  the  declining  sun,  hung  in  rows  over  a 

205 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

deer's  head  which  young  Conway  had  brought  back  some 
two  years  since  as  a  trophy  of  his  skill  in  the  Rocky 
Mountains. 

Mrs.  Conway  looked  at  the  guns,  and  then  at  the  deer's 
head,  and  then  at  the  broad  staircase. 

"  He  used  to  run  up  those  stairs  two  steps  at  a  time," 
she  said,  brokenly. 

Then  she  went  in.     The  door  fell  to  behind  her. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

THE   RISE   OF   MARIOTTI 

DURING  the  month  of  August  the  little  theatre,  in  the 
congested  street  to  which  the  Ambassadress  had  paid  her 
secret  visit  with  its  apparently  fruitless  errand  some  weeks 
before,  became  common  talk.  Those  Parisians  whom  com- 
merce, or  poverty,  or  a  sluggish  inclination  deterred  from 
taking  advantage  of  the  heated  period  in  which  to  go 
a-holidaying,  discussed  it  with  infinite  delight. 

Masons  were  set  to  work  to  demolish  both  the  exterior 
and  the  interior  of  that  dilapidated  structure  which  had 
witnessed  the  struggles  of  a  fifth-class  genius  whose  methods 
of  procedure,  up  to  the  present,  had  been  as  volatile  as  his 
representations.  After  a  period  in  which  the  gaping  crowd 
experienced  the  daily  joy  of  witnessing  the  arrival  of  plaster 
and  building  material  enough  —  it  seemed  to  their  uninitiated 
view  —  to  have  patched  up  the  ruins  of  the  Tuileries  ;  of 
swallowing  dust  in  choking  clouds  coincident  with  the  tear- 
ing down  of  the  old  building  and  the  putting  up  of  the  new  ; 
of  advancing  suppositions  as  to  the  sudden  incomprehen- 
sible wealth  which  had  enabled  Mariotti  to  renew  with  such 

206 


THE   RISE   OF   MARIOTTI 

extravagance  his  frame  for  professional  exhibitions,  the  fact 
of  the  clown's  prosperity  became  an  established  act  ;  its 
development  but  a  matter  of  time. 

The  interior  was  reported — after  some  days,  during  which 
the  unimportant  roadway  it  controlled  had  become  but  a 
thoroughfare  to  and  from  the  boulevards — to  being  high  on 
the  way  towards  representing  one  of  those  cozy  nests  of 
warmth  and  illumination  which  combine  amusement  and  com- 
fort with  art.  There  was  no  doubt  it  would,  too,  be  popular. 

The  Theatre  Mariotti  ! 

That  was  its  name.  The  words  blossomed  forth  in 
glaring  gas-lit  letters  on  a  garish  blue  background.  They 
were  slung  across  the  street  on  a  wire,  from  the  front  of 
the  play-house  to  the  second-story  window  of  an  obliging 
cheese-monger,  who  was  nothing  loath  to  augment  his 
clientele  by  lending  his  interest,  with  a  few  hundred  francs, 
which  he  was  informed  by  Mariotti  was  a  miserable  price 
for  such  a  big  advertisement  to  the  project. 

The  Theatre  Mariotti  was  to  be  the  playground  of  all  the 
jugglers,  the  trapeze  performers,  the  music-hall  singers,  the 
travelling  families  who  substituted  their  young  from  infancy 
as  a  means  of  obtaining  livelihood  by  somersaulting  through 
the  era  of  baby  elasticity  up  to  adult  proficiency,  the  trick 
specialists  with  their  dogs  and  cats,  the  young  ladies  who 
warbled  words  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  capital  band  at- 
tired in  a  Mariotti  livery  ;  in  sum,  the  variety  specialists  of 
the  world. 

But  the  bright  particular  star  was  to  be  Mariotti  himself, 
in  a  role  which,  it  was  prophesied,  would  be  kaleidoscopic. 

He  was  known  to  be  a  fraudulent  specimen  of  legitimate 
art ;  but  the  majority  of  amusement-seekers  were  not  look- 
ing for  problems.  They  cried  for  sparkle,  fun,  wit ;  some- 
thing which  lent  color,  not  substance  ;  brightness,  not 
analysis.  At  the  Theatre  Mariotti — it  was  announced  weeks 

207 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

before  the  opening  night — this  delightful  state  of  things 
would  be  disclosed  for  digestion  at  an  insignificant  cost. 

When  that  night  came  the  little  street  was  so  gorged 
with  fiacres  that  it  took  the  grocer  and  his  wife — who  had 
been  up  the  Seine  for  a  jollification  with  a  maiden  aunt — an 
hour  and  a  quarter  to  push  their  way  from  the  boulevard  to 
their  own  shop. 

It  was  Sunday.  What  of  human  nature  which  had  been 
gallivanting  in  the  Bois  all  day,  and  down  and  up  the  river, 
and  over  in  the  Boule'  Miche',  at  Charenton,  and  Poissy, 
and  out  at  Auteuil,  boiled  over  again,  into  the  boulevards 
on  its  way  home.  Its  sweetheart  was  on  its  arm,  gabbling, 
insatiable,  looking  for  the  next  thing  to  turn  up. 

On  the  boulevards,  which  were  as  light  as  day,  thou- 
sands of  tables  were  set  out  on  the  sidewalks,  while  hun- 
dreds of  weary  and  perspiring  waiters  were  flying  through 
the  congested  lines  of  people,  their  napkins  over  their 
arms,  administering  bocks  and  ices.  There  was  a  cold 
moon  looking  down  on  the  scene  of  bustle  cynically.  The 
bulbed  fringes  of  light  which  danced  in  a  soft  summer 
breeze,  the  harbinger  of  a  black  thunder-storm  which  was 
rolling  up  in  the  west,  bobbed  wickedly  in  and  out  of  the 
tree-branches,  which  were  whispering  busily  to  one  another. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  elements  themselves  conspired  in 
Mariotti's  favor  that  night.  For  no  sooner  had  the  vast 
throng  dined,  its  hum,  like  that  of  a  huge  bumblebee, 
buzzing  along  the  boulevard  to  the  Place  de  I'Ope'ra  away 
up  as  far  as  the  Porte  St.  Martin,  than  there  came  a  clap 
of  thunder  which  made  the  women  shriek  and  the  men  start 
and  run  about  for  places  of  shelter. 

There  had  been  sandwich  men  all  day  parading  the 
main  thoroughfares.  They  carried  placards  hung  from 
their  shoulders  front  and  back  ;  they  were  attired  in  vari- 
colored liveries,  harlequin-styled,  in  black,  kaleidoscopi- 

208 


THE   RISE  OF  MARIOTTI 

cally  striped,  and  pieced  together.  They  wore  fanciful, 
cone-shaped  caps.  They  sang,  as  they  made  their  way 
along,  in  a  nasal  monotone  which  pierced  its  way  through 
the  hum  of  voices  and  shuffling  footsteps,  of  how  young 
Harlequin  had  been  a  beggar  lad  once  upon  a  time.  He 
had  longed  to  go  with  his  fellows  to  a  village  dance  on  the 
green.  Having  no  holiday  clothes,  he  wept.  His  com- 
rades, sorrowful,  made  up  a  plan  in  his  favor.  This  plan 
was  for  each  to  give  a  small  portion  of  his  or  her  cos- 
tume until  Harlequin  should  secure  enough  to  clothe  him- 
self. No  sooner  said  than  done.  Harlequin  went  to  the 
dance  in  a  costume  made  up  of  pieces  of  every  denomina- 
tion and  color  and  size  and  shape.  But  he  broke  all  the 
maiden's  hearts  and  roused  the  jealousy  of  the  men,  be- 
cause he  had  as  many  moods  as  he  looked.  Ever  after- 
wards man's  moods  had  been  as  many-colored,  as  evanes- 
cent, as  deep  as  the  sea. 

Thus  the  sandwich  men  chanted  as  they  pushed  their  way 
through  that  rollicking  throng  all  day  long,  until  Harlequin 
had  become  an  established  fact  which  the  boulevards  con- 
sumed rapaciously  ;  a  new  plat  for  the  loafer's  distraction. 

As  the  rain  came  rushing  along,  swishing  right  and  left, 
the  crowd  followed  the  sandwich-harlequins  en  masse. 
When  they  found  they  led  them  into  a  narrow  street, 
where  the  shelving  roofs  sheltered  the  crowds  from  the  tor- 
rents of  rain  which  fell  in  sheets,  it  seemed  but  a  merciful 
Providence  who  guided  the  footsteps  of  that  congested 
throng  into  a  gay  little  play-house  which  gleamed  like  a 
harbor  of  light  and  love  beckoning  them  in  to  forget  the 
storm  on  their  heels. 

It  turned  out  to  be  the  veriest  jewel  of  a  play-house  with 
the  newest,  if  rankly  meretricious,  adornments.  The  loges 
were  decorated  in  yellow.  The  lights  were  made  to  repre- 
sent great  bunches  of  golden  wheat,  with  poppy  bulbs 
M  209 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

softening  the  glare.  And  there  was  a  drop-curtain  portray- 
ing a  green  dog  running  alongside  a  pink  river,  the  whole 
surrounded  by  purple  mountains,  which,  for  fidelity  to 
nature,  was  unique  ! 

That  was  a  gala  night.  The  theatre  was  warm  ;  outside 
the  storm  was  raging  fearfully.  The  theatre  was  light ;  on 
the  boulevards  there  was  an  odor  of  escaping  gas  caused 
by  the  wanton  wind's  too  arduous  fooling  with  the  gas-jets. 
The  theatre  was  full  of  good  cheer.  Mariotti's  name,  from 
the  first  to  the  last  of  the  programme,  was  on  every  lip. 

For  in  that  night  he  outdid  himself.  He  was  scene- 
shifter,  performer,  audience,  initiator,  everything  in  one. 
There  was  nowhere  he  was  not ;  everywhere  he  was  ;  al- 
most, it  seemed,  at  one  and  the  same  time.  He  led  the 
applause,  and  urged  on  the  actors,  and  disclosed  his  own 
oddly  versatile  talent,  and  relegated  his  assistants  to  their 
most  brilliant  niche. 

Towards  the  end,  when  the  house  had  exhausted  itself 
in  cheering,  laughing  its  sides  sore,  exchanging  mutual 
glances  of  delight  and  appreciation,  he  was  called  for  vocif- 
erously. 

Mariotti  came  forward.  The  rogue  understood  playing 
modesty  as  well  as  how  to  command  applause,  to  steal 
some  one  else's  methods,  to  copy  a  good  thing,  and  make 
out  of  it  a  comic  interpretation. 

He  advanced,  rubbing  the  palms  of  his  hands  together  a 
little  awkwardly,  with  a  nervous  apology  of  a  cough  and 
the  wickedest  gleam  of  mischief  incarnate  in  his  eye.  He 
wore  the  harlequin  costume.  Already  some  critic,  who 
had  slipped  in  by  chance,  was  imagining  his  own  article  for 
the  next  day's  paper  which  would  recount  this  remarkable 
clown's  triumph  in  emphasizing  his  own  mercurial  entity 
through  his  habiliments,  as  changeable,  as  wilfully  erratic 
as  himself. 


THE  RISE  OF  MARIOTTI 

' '  Kind  friends, ' '  cried  Mariotti,  ' '  I  thank  you  for  this 
night  of  encouragement.  I  had  not  thought  to  be  so  suc- 
cessful. I  am  but  a  humble  well-wisher,  who  seeks  to  efface 
from  your  countenances  everything  but  the  lines  of  laugh- 
ter. Let  gayety  be  our  watchword  ;  let  joyousness  be  our 
strength.  I  have  named  my  little  play-house  Mariotti' s 
Theatre  ;  but  if  you  find  it  better  to  entitle  it  Laugh  Hall, 
or  Merriment  Auditorium,  or  even  Ecstasy  Building,  that 
right  of  yours  shall  be  observed.  I  tear  down  my  name, 
and  put  in  its  stead  a  vow  to  everlasting  cheer  !" 

' '  No,  no  :  we  want  Mariotti  !' '  they  all  cried. 

Then  the  clown  glowed  ;  then  the  hands  stopped  rubbing 
themselves  together  nervously  ;  the  snaky,  bead-like  eyes 
changed  their  shifting  expression. 

He  drew  up  his  supple,  peculiarly  serpentine  figure,  and 
advanced  close  to  the  footlights.  With  that  gesture,  for 
which  he  was  known  far  and  wide, — his  finger  alongside  of 
his  nose, — he  spoke  clearly  through  his  broken  teeth. 

' '  You  want  Mariotti,  mes  enfants  ?' '  asked  he.  ' '  Be- 
ware !  Know,  then,  there  is  more  than  one  Mariotti.  There 
are  two,  three,  a  thousand  such.  There  is  the  Mariotti  who 
leaps — like  this."  The  fellow  made  a  running  jump  across 
the  stage,  bounded  on  his  hands  from  the  footlights  to  a 
loge  where  a  crowd  of  men  and  women  were  applauding 
him  vociferously,  and  then,  straightening  himself  with  the 
languid  air  of  a  drawing-room  devotee,  walked  back  into 
place  again.  ' '  There  is  the  Mariotti  who  sings. ' '  The 
clown  here  broke  into  a  wild  tune  which  for  audacious 
handling  of  measure  was  singularly  captivating,  "There 
is  the  Mariotti  who  loves  ;  the  Mariotti  who  hates," — the 
countenance  was  singularly  vindictive, — "  and  the  Mariotti 
who  suffers."  The  whole  figure  drooped  helplessly  ;  aline 
of  despair  from  the  limp  hands  to  the  sodden  heels.  "  And 
there  is  the  Mariotti  who  hopes."  The  clown  gathered 

211 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

himself  together,  and,  with  an  expansive  gesture,  held  forth 
both  his  arms.  ' '  Ah,  mes  amis  !  I  love  my  Paris  and  my 
Parisians. ' ' 

The  latter  appeal  brought  down  the  house. 

From  that  night  Mariotti's  name  was  caught  up  from  the 
boulevards  to  the  Arch,  from  the  Bois  to  the  Place  de  la 
Bourse, — oil  poured  on  the  flame  of  an  oncoming  inevita- 
bility. 

He  exercised  all  his  cunning  contriving  new  roles,  which 
he  revealed  nightly  with  increasing  evidence  of  ingenuity. 
He  was  the  idol  of  the  small  boy  ;  the  great  man  of  his 
quarter.  The  grocer  talked  of  him  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 
recounting  how  ' '  simple' '  he  was  in  his  tastes  and  how 
1 '  abundant' '  in  his  expenditures.  Of  this  there  was  no 
doubt.  Mariotti  was  living,  in  the  quarter  interpretation, 
like  a  live  lord.  His  vegetables  were  cooked  in  oil  and  his 
meat  with  garlic.  The  newspapers  recounted  how  the 
queen  of  a  small  island  in  the  Pacific  was  dying  of  love  for 
him.  A  discreet  murmur  was  set  agog  in  select  circles, 
where  Mariotti's  name,  since  his  escapade  at  the  Duchesse's 
had  been  discussed  with  reverence,  that  a  great  lady  had 
said  to  her  confidante  that  for  sparkle  and  softness  and 
affection  the  famous  clown's  eyes  reminded  her  of  her  pet 
poodle's  that  had  died  at  the  tender  age  of  twenty-seven 
years.  But  concerning  all  these  tales  Mariotti  protested 
himself  a  victim  of  circumstances.  He  claimed  that  the 
world  little  comprehended  a  humble  individual  who  only 
sought  to  refrain  from  tears,  to  look  upon  the  bright  side 
of  the  present,  to  forget  the  hereafter  ;  that  it  was  putting 
him  upon  a  pedestal  which  he  neither  desired  nor  had 
anticipated  ;  that  it  named  him  a  clown,  while  in  reality  he 
merely  was  living  his  sunny,  ardent  nature  aloud. 

If  the  charlatan  overreached  himself  a  trifle  in  the  anom- 
aly he  betrayed  of  a  simple  soul  who  bought  up  critics  while 

212 


THE  RISE  OF  MARIOTTI 

at  one  and  the  same  time  turning  somersaults  in  their  faces, 
of  exhorting  appreciation  while  deploring  its  quality,  it  is 
supposable  that  he  did  no  less  than  others. 

If  his  expenditures  overreached  his  income,  if  his  speeches 
remained  unmatched  by  his  acts,  if  his  promises  went  un- 
fulfilled and  his  cruelties  were  on  a  par  with  his  voracious- 
ness, these  minor  details  might  have  been  considered  part 
and  parcel  of  his  versatility. 

A  wilier  soul  never  lived,  nor  a  more  subtle,  nor  a  less 
exalted. 

His  audience  increased  night  by  night  and  day  by  day, 
as,  unable  to  compete  with  the  multitude,  he  put  on  matin6e 
performances.  The  tales  circulated  in  his  honor  might 
almost  have  been  said  to  be  invented  by  Mariotti  himself. 

How  the  famous  theatre  was  paid  for,  constructed,  man- 
aged, was  not  a  question  which  concerned  any  more  con- 
spicuous beings  than  a  few  starving  masons  who  pleaded  in 
vain  for  their  earnings,  and  some  indigent  women  who 
railed  in  the  clown's  face  now  and  then  with  cries  like  the 
whinings  of  wounded  animals.  Mariotti,  more  and  more 
fearfully,  slunk  to  and  from  his  play-house  to  a  lodging 
near.  Concerning  this  lodging  the  population  had  already 
made  complaints  to  the  police.  Mysterious  cries  came 
through  the  walls  to  their  ears,  cries  muffled  and  indistinct, 
but  which,  in  spite  of  their  inexplicable  awfulness,  continued. 

The  police  enjoyed  Mariotti' s  performances — they  and 
their  families — in  seats  provided  for  them,  weekly,  by  the 
management.  Being  experienced  men,  as  well  as  influen- 
tial, they  deplored  the  jealousy  and  venom  of  that  portion 
of  the  quarter  which  sought  to  depreciate  the  clown's  pros- 
perity, and  left  his  dwelling-place  uninspected. 


213 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

THE   AMBASSADOR    ENTERS   THE   ENEMY'S    RANKS 

LUBIN,  after  four  weeks'  exhaustive  search,  reported 
himself  insuperably  perplexed.  He  expressed  a  disgust 
for  Conway's  methods  of  procedure  which  he  did  not  hesi- 
tate to  exhibit.  Either,  he  argued,  the  daring  young  fel- 
low was  playing  them  a  game  of  hide-and-seek  or  he  had 
been  totally  annihilated  by  some  foreign  force. 

Mrs.  Markoe  and  Mrs.  Conway  had  taken  a  house  to- 
gether at  Fontainebleau  during  the  heated  period.  They 
were  mutually  striving  to  encourage  one  another  in  the 
long  anguished  days  of  suspense.  The  Ambassador  spent 
the  chief  portion  of  his  time  in  town  attending  to  inter- 
national affairs,  while  endeavoring  to  discover  clues  of 
which  Lubin  had  proclaimed  the  mystery  to  be  uniquely 
devoid. 

Finally,  as  a  last  resource,  Markoe  made  an  appoint- 
ment with  Lamballe. 

The  dramatist  wrote,  in  response  to  the  Ambassador's 
politely  worded  note,  that  he  would  be  pleased  to  receive 
the  illustrious  representative  of  United  States  interests  at 
breakfast.  Markoe,  who  disliked  confounding  social  inter- 
course with  business  affairs,  demurred.  The  interview  was 
compromised  for  two  o'clock  the  same  day  at  Lamballe' s 
house,  a  small,  exquisitely  appointed  hotel  in  the  Rue 
Dominici,  just  opposite  the  Chamber  of  Deputies. 

The  Ambassador  found  Lamballe  in  his  study  with  a  pile 
of  newspapers  at  his  elbow,  which  contained  criticisms  of 
his  play. 

214 


ENTERS  THE   ENEMY'S   RANKS 

They  appeared  to  highly  amuse  the  dramatist. 

After  he  had  risen  to  receive  his  guest,  he  referred  to 
them  with  a  gesture.  ' '  The  critics  are  not  so  superfluous 
after  all, ' '  he  said,  ' '  since  they  sometimes  teach  us  what 
not  to  do. ' ' 

The  Ambassador,  with  characteristic  abruptness,  at- 
tacked the  subject  in  hand  instanter. 

1 '  I  called  to  ask  for  your  valuable  co-operation  in  a 
matter  which,  curiously  enough,  is  an  unattended  offshoot 
of  the  contention  between  Ferdinand  Lamballe  and  the 
United  States,"  he  began. 

Lamballe  altered  his  manner  at  once.  It  had  been 
suave.  It  turned  opaque.  His  smile  vanished.  He 
seemed  all  ears.  The  Ambassador  felt  he  was  to  meet  his 
match  in  neutrality.  The  conviction  was  exhilarating  ;  it 
steadied  his  impulse  and  equipped  his  speech. 

"  In  what  may  I  be  of  service  to  you  ?" 

The  Ambassador  rose.  He  began  striding  up  and  down 
the  room,  taking  care  as  he  did  so  to  cast  a  glance  now 
and  then  towards  his  host,  who  still  remained  nonchalantly 
seated  in  his  chair  opposite  the  window  which  looked  into 
the  street.  When  Markoe  came  between  him  and  the 
light  he  did  not  move  :  he  seemed  intently  listening.  He 
visibly  ignored  the  fact  that  his  antagonist  thus  had  him  at 
a  disadvantage,  did  he  betray  any  emotion  or  signify  dis- 
comfiture. 

' '  I  determined,  upon  being  chosen  to  fill  the  post  of 
administrator  of  Franco- American  affairs,  to  take  the 
bearings  of  the  grounds  under  discussion  into  personal 
consideration  immediately  upon  my  arrival  on  foreign 
soil,"  stated  Markoe.  "I  have  done  so.  I  brought 
over  with  me,  from  my  own  country,  a  surveyor,  who  for 
quicksilver  methods  is  unusually  competent.  I  sent  him, 
accompanied  by  a  man  who  crossed  for  the  purpose  at 

215 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

my  order,  down  to  Carembourg  last  week  to  open  pro- 
ceedings. ' ' 

"Subsequent  upon  my  refusal  to  treat  with  you?"  in- 
quired Lamballe,  with  undisguised  irritation. 

"Just  so.  I  considered  that,  did  you  know  personally 
of  the  immense  advantage  France  would  derive  upon  ces- 
sation of  the  hostilities  you  have  held  to,  that  you  and  I, 
being  men  of  sense  and  not  of  sensitiveness,  men  of  action 
and  not  of  ungovernable  passions,  men  of  experience  and 
not  of  unmalleable  clay,  could  come  to  an  understanding." 

"You  were  courageous  !" 

' '  Let  us  say  hopeful, ' '  corrected  the  Ambassador. 

"As  you  will.  The  term  is  your  own."  Lamballe' s 
eyes  were  dancing. 

"My  visit  to-day,  however,  is  not  with  Carembourg," 
interpolated  the  foreign  representative.  ' '  That  issue  is 
one  which  you  and  I  must  fight  out  later  ;  or,  say  rather, 
determine  upon.  I  came  to  earnestly  request  your  help  in 
instituting  a  search  for  a  young  friend  of  mine  who  has 
mysteriously  disappeared. ' ' 

There  was  a  pause. 

Lamballe' s  eyes  grew  dark  ;  an  extension  of  the  pupils 
subsequent  upon  excited  heart  action,  possibly. 

"  Your  surveyor  has  been  made  way  with  ?" 

There  was  a  polite  hint  of  superficial  interest  contained 
in  the  tone,  nothing  more. 

' '  You  mistake  me.  Not  my  surveyor.  He  is  mature, 
experienced,  cautious.  The  man  who  has  disappeared  is 
the  son  of  a  friend  of  mine,  who  generously  offered  to  aid 
me  in  my  explorations,  which  he  desired  to  personally  con- 
duct and  oversee.  He  arrived  at  Carembourg  one  Friday 
night.  He  oversaw  operations  for  two  days.  They  were 
practically  concluded.  The  night  came  on.  There  was  a 
final  question  to  be  determined.  He  left  the  inn  to  do  his 

216 


ENTERS  THE  ENEMY'S  RANKS 

duty,  defying,  as  he  did  so,  poaching  laws.     You,  perhaps, 
have  come  in  contact  with  young  America  ?' ' 

Lamballe  laughed  raspingly.  ' '  I  have  met  with  it  more 
than  once,"  he  affirmed,  acridly. 

"Quite  so,"  returned  Markoe,  with  a  twinkle  in  his 
deduction  which  he  peremptorily  deterred  from  mounting 
to  his  eyes. 

"  He  set  forth  in  the  pouring  rain.  He  did  not  return," 
he  concluded. 

' '  He  possibly  lost  his  way, ' '  suggested  Lamballe,  per- 
functorily. 

"  It  is  to  be  supposed  that  such  was  the  case,"  returned 
Markoe,  addressing  his  glance  directly  at  the  figure  in  the 
chair  for  the  first  time.  ' '  But  supposing  he  did  not  lose 
it  ?  Let  us  presume  some  of  the  servants  of  the  owner  of 
Carembourg  were  about.  They  may  have  only  done  their 
duty  if  they  enforced  their  authority." 

"  I  do  not  comprehend. ' ' 

Lamballe  was  gazing  up  nonchalantly  at  the  unflinching 
figure  which  stood  in  front  of  him. 

' '  I  mean  that  the  laws  of  France  are  rude  as  regards 
interlopers.  Perhaps  those  laws  are  sometimes  abused. 
You  have  it  in  your  power,  monsieur,  to  inform  me  if  the 
man  who  has  take  it  upon  himself  to  aid  me  in  the  con- 
quest of  individual  imperialism  may  have  fallen  into  a 
trap." 

Lamballe  lifted  his  elbow  off  the  papers  near  them  and 
propped  it  on  the  back  of  his  chair. 

"Be  seated,  monsieur,  I  beg  of  you,"  he  said,  cour- 
teously. ' '  That  way  we  are  on  a  level. ' '  The  statement 
was  oblique. 

Markoe  seated  himself. 

' '  You  accuse  me  of  having  made  way  with  your  friend  ?' ' 
began  Lamballe. 

217 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

"  Not  so.     I  ask  you  if  you  know  his  whereabouts?" 

"And  if  I  did?" 

1 '  A  direct  question  demands  a  direct  response  among 
men. ' ' 

"  It  is  not  diplomacy." 

"God  forbid!  In  the  land  of  ozone  and  energy  the 
human  brute  struggles  for  supremacy  too  instinctively  to 
stop  to  consider  in  what  form  his  birthright  may  be 
clothed." 

1 '  Your  answer  is  worthy  of  yourself.  I  do  not  know 
the  whereabouts  of  your  friend. ' ' 

The  Ambassador  flashed  one  glance  over  the  man  who 
confronted  him  so  fearlessly.  It  expressed  belief. 

' '  I  thank  you  for  your  courtesy. ' ' 

"It  is  not  courtesy  alone.  It  is  truth.  I  claim  the 
right  to  deal  with  you,  monsieur,  as  an  honest  man  should. 
I  shall  be  glad  to  proffer  you  any  aid  in  my  power  to  dis- 
cover your  friend's  whereabouts.  A  man  may  not  disap- 
pear in  France — even  when  making  inroads  into  private 
property — without  being  traced.  We  control  a  detective 
system  which  commands  the  respect  of  the  civilized  world. 
It  shall  be  placed  at  your  service." 

The  Ambassador  remained  apparently  unimpressed. 

"Your  personal  assistance  first,"  he  asked,  "  I  beg." 

"  It  is  yours.     The  man's  name?" 

' '  Conway , ' '  returned  Markoe.  Lamballe  had  pulled  up 
his  chair  to  his  desk,  and  had  taken  a  pencil  in  hand  to 
inscribe  notes  in  a  small  leather-bound  memorandum  book 
which  he  opened  for  the  purpose. 

It  was  Markoe' s  turn  to  look  astonished.  Lamballe 
threw  down  the  pencil  he  had  drawn  from  his  pocket  and 
turned  towards  him.  His  face  was  aglow. 

"Your  friend,  you  say,  is  an  American?"  he  asked, 

peremptorily. 

218 


ENTERS  THE  ENEMY'S   RANKS 

"Very  much  so,"  returned  Markoe,  with  emphasis. 
"He  is  the  son  of  our  mutual  friend,  Mrs.  Livingstone 
Conway  ;  Madeleine  Farragut  that  was.  You  may  remem- 
ber, sir,  as  I  do,  that  we  have  met  before.  I  knew  you 
twenty  years  ago  when,  in  the  woods  of  La  Valliere,  we 
mutually  followed  a  hawking  party  in  the  forest  of  the 
Duchesse  de  Launoy  ;  an  exact  copy  as  possible  of  those 
enjoyed  in  the  reign  of  Francis  I." 

Lamballe  gave  a  shout.  His  chastened  face  beamed 
with  joy.  He  rose  and  came  forward,  both  hands  out- 
stretched. 

' '  Remember  !' '  he  echoed.  ' '  Is  there  any  feature  of  all 
that  joyous  time  which  Ferdinand  Lamballe  could  forget  ?' ' 

The  Ambassador  was  forced  to  take  the  hands  which 
were  extended  towards  him. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  cried  Lamballe, — fifteen  minutes  had 
expired  in  which  the  two  had  been  exchanging  experiences, 
— "something  told  me  the  first  time  my  eyes  fell  upon  you 
that  I  had  discovered  a  friend." 

"Nothing  more  likely,  if  friendship  were  not  so  ob- 
viously a  disinterested  function,"  responded  Markoe.  "  In 
my  case  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say,  considering  our  mutual 
disagreement,  that  it  does  not  yet  fill  that  exalted  niche." 

' '  Your  practical  habit  rebels  against  sentiment  ?' '  Lam- 
belle  suggested. 

' '  Not  so  ;  business  first,  pleasure  afterwards.  I  am  glad 
to  discover  you  a  man  of  parts  instead  of  the  youth  I 
once  knew,  whose  zeal  seemed  bent  on  capturing  hearts  ; 
a  zeal  worthy  of  a  higher  cause.  You  have  discovered 
the  cause.  I  congratulate  you." 

' '  And  you  !' '  returned  Lamballe,  after  bowing  gravely 
in  response  to  Markoe' s  look  of  warm  approval.  "You 
are  a  representative  man  ;  a  servant  sent  forth  by  his  gov- 
ernment ;  an  official  dove  carrying  the  emblem  of  trust. 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

Maturity  insures  a  weight  of  saddest  accumulation,  sor- 
rows, losses.  It  is  bearable,  however,  if,  with  its  unwilling 
acquirement,  it  registers  influence. ' ' 

The  two  adversaries  contemplated  one  another  with 
kindling  eyes. 

"  I  shall  consider  my  service  a  failure  if  young  Conway 
is  left  missing  for  long, ' '  vouchsafed  Markoe. 

' '  What  age  is  he  ?  Tell  me  his  habits  ;  I  can  foresee 
nothing  which,  with  a  trifling  expenditure  of  time,  may  not 
be  vanquished. ' ' 

The  Ambassador  placed  the  matter  before  Lamballe  in  a 
nutshell. 

The  Parisian  expected,  perhaps,  a  week's  delay,  he  told 
Markoe  finally.  If  Conway  could  be  proved  to  have  come 
up  to  Paris,  the  secret  service  should  be  set  at  once  dis- 
covering his  whereabouts.  If  he  had  remained  at  Carem- 
bourg,  Lamballe' s  servants  were  many  and  able.  "  Leave 
the  affair  in  my  hands, ' '  he  concluded. 

The  Ambassador  recognized  that  a  more  generous  prop- 
osition could  not  have  been  proffered  He  rose. 

"I  thank  you,"  he  said,  in  his  crisp  voice.  "It  is  a 
singular  coincidence  that  should  have  sent  me  your  way 
concerning  a  grievance.  It  seemed  to  me  no  lesser  plan 
was  feasible.  I  discovered  the  night  of  your  premiere  that 
you  possessed  a  keener  perception  than  my  compatriots 
generally  take  time  to  acquire,  and  exercised  a  philan- 
thropy which  is  praiseworthy.  I  am  pleased  to  learn  that 
you  practise  what  you  preach. ' ' 

The  Ambassador  knew  by  this  that  the  Latin  exacts  a 
surface  courtesy  which  the  Anglo-Saxon  ignores  in  his 
irrelevant  appliance  of  the  maxim  that  time  is  money. 

' '  I  have  a  stranger  within  my  gates, ' '  observed  Lam- 
balle, suavely.  "  He  must  go  forth  happier  than  when  he 
came.  I  will  do  my  best  to  give  him  back  his  own. ' ' 

220 


ENTERS  THE  ENEMY'S  RANKS 

But  as  Lamballe  proffered  his  aid  he  did  not  allow  him- 
self to  forget  that  he  who  so  frankly  demanded  of  him  in- 
fluence and  intricate  handling  of  a  difficult  situation  was 
seeking  at  one  and  the  same  time  to  despoil  him  of  a 
cherished  portion  of  his  territory.  The  Frenchman  felt 
for  the  foreigner  the  antagonism  which  is  the  natural  result 
of  an  international  encounter.  His  visitor  seemed  to  dis- 
cover pleasure  in  unveiling  what  the  distinguished  Parisian 
delighted  to  disguise, — tenacity  and  a  love  of  power. 
He  worded  what  the  imperialist  secreted, — audacity.  He 
coarsened  what  the  dramatist  had  elected  to  refine, — author- 
ity. But  his  manner  was  so  breezy,  his  self-respect  so 
actual,  his  purpose  so  frank,  that  this  born  conservative 
saw  himself  for  the  first  time,  as  the  scion  of  an  unances- 
tried  race  had  found  him  all  along,  a  fine  fingerer  of  emo- 
tions, a  meddler  in  morals.  The  American's  reach  com- 
manded a  wider  horizon.  He  stood,  in  his  crude  courage, 
confessed  of  but  the  straightforward  policy  of  duty.  His 
religion  had  health  for  its  symbol  and  clean-thinking  for 
its  god.  His  fetich  was  simplicity. 

As  the  dramatist  took  leave  of  his  guest  he  promised  to 
forward  him  a  messenger  each  day  with  the  latest  informa- 
tion. 

"  As  I  said  before,"  remarked  Markoe, — he  was  standing 
in  the  doorway,  the  sun  shone  straight  across  his  high-strung 
face, — "  that  play  of  yours  evinced  purpose  and  will.  But 
wouldn't  it  be  wiser  to  coin  your  purpose  instead  of  accen- 
tuating other  people's  lack  of  it?  I  fancy  a  man  goes 
farther  if  he  handles  his  own  throttle- valve. " 

He  did  not  wait  for  a  reply.  He  merely  threw  the  sug- 
gestion off  hurriedly,  as  if  it  were  born  that  moment,  to 
die  the  next.  But  the  hint  contained  so  marked  an  accent 
of  good  fellowship  that  his  listener  glowed  all  through. 

"  It  does  not  surprise  me  that  you  ignore  difficulties  in 

221 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

our  search  for  Conway, ' '  the  speaker  subjoined.  ' '  I  fancy 
it  is  to  your  taste,  isn't  it,  to  burrow?" 

He  looked  right  into  his  adversary's  eyes. 

"  Which  part  of  my  play  did  you  like  most?"  inquired 
Lamballe. 

Markoe's  face  kindled.  He  stepped  out  of  the  vestibule 
to  the  steps  which  descended  to  the  street.  ' '  There  is  no 
doubt  but  that  your  third  act  is  the  strongest,  if  the  lines 
are  to  be  trusted,"  he  responded. 

' '  Why  not  trusted  ?' '  retorted  Lamballe,  inquisitively. 

The  Ambassador  turned.  The  shrewd  lines  at  the 
corners  of  his  colorless  eyes  deepened.  "The  third  act 
always  presupposes  the  fourth,  sometimes  for  good,  some- 
times for  bad, — doesn't  it?"  he  asked. 

' '  You  speak  advisedly, ' '  cried  Lamballe. 

1 '  I  am  forty-two  years  old,  and  I  have  not  ceased  to 
hope,"  returned  Markoe. 

"  There  is  a  double  edge  to  his  speech,"  reflected  Lam- 
balle, as  he  returned  to  his  study.  Then  he  dismissed  the 
thought,  and  seated  himself  to  write  a  line  to  a  powerful 
constituent. 

In  an  hour  his  bidden  friend  presented  himself ;  a  man 
who  for  official  subtlety  stood  alone. 

He  was  the  Prefect  of  Police. 

¥¥ 

CHAPTER    XXVIII 

A    LIGHT   WITH   SHADOWED    RAYS 

FROM  the  now  registered  fact  of  buying  a  return  ticket 
at  the  little  station  of  Carembourg  the  evening  of  June  10, 
the  purchaser  clothed  in  a  slouch  hat  pulled  down  to  his 
brows,  a  muffler  which  reached  to  his  eyes,  a  pair  of 


A  LIGHT  WITH   SHADOWED   RAYS 

muddy,  rain-soaked  boots,  and  a  small  bag  slung  across 
the  left  shoulder,  Jack  Conway  had  gone  out  as  effectually 
as  if  a  tidal  wave  had  overflowed  the  borders  of  traffic  and 
civilization  and  engulfed  him. 

Lamballe  himself  faithful  to  his  promise,  which  he  set  in 
motion  instantly,  subjoined  with  a  personal  supervision 
which  was  above  praise,  started  his  own  private  force  at 
work  together  with  the  public  officers  of  investigation,  com- 
manding them  in  this  case  to  show  their  colors  instead 
of  establishing  a  record  for  incompetence  which  would 
have  an  echo  across  the  seas.  In  spite  of  consummate 
skill,  of  influence  above  par, — the  diplomatic  foreign  circle 
was  concerned  with  Conway 's  mysterious  disappearance, 
the  rest  of  the  world  being  kept  in  ignorance  in  strict  ac- 
cordance with  the  United  States  representative's  express 
orders, — the  horizon  seemed  swept  forever  of  that  glad 
young  figure  which  had  set  forth  with  so  steadfast  a  pur- 
pose to  conclude  the  simplest  errand  in  the  world. 

His  friends  had  not  recognized  until  now  how  important  a 
niche  he  had  filled.  To-day  they  acknowledged  in  him  their 
joy-barometer.  For  sunshine  had  come  with  him,  and  rain 
had  settled  down  for  evermore  where  he  was  not.  An 
unimportant  figure  enough,  perhaps,  compared  with  the 
men  and  women  who  had  fought  and  bled  and  died  con- 
spicuously, applauded  by  the  multitude,  log-rolled  for 
achievement,  socially  lionized  or  approved  of ;  but  none 
the  less  a  good  son  ;  and  faithful  as  a  friend  ;  and  true. 
He  had  done  his  share  in  making  one  or  two  people  happy, 
if  merely  through  the  fact  of  a  vivid  existence  which  sought 
feverishly  after  pastures  new.  The  little  circle  who  loved 
him  came,  in  these  days,  to  considering  that  his  restless 
love  of  travel  had  not  signified  self-indulgence  altogether, 
but  perhaps  the  unconscious  fluttering  of  the  soul  to  try 
its  wings  in  broader  spheres  ;  that  his  eager  clutch  of  the 

223 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

opportunity  his  fellow-countryman  had  proffered  him 
pointed  to  a  painful  self-acknowledgment  of  insignificance. 

Mrs.  Conway's  sad  face  grew  so  wistful  and  peaked  that  the 
Ambassador  and  his  wife,  added  to  their  mutual  conscious- 
ness that  they  had  been  the  unwitting  cause  of  the  present 
unhappy  state  of  things,  grew  more  and  more  alarmed. 
Markoe  became  visibly  careworn.  He  spent  all  his  spare 
hours  concocting  plans  with  Lamballe,  who  by  this  time  had 
come  to  being  the  consoler  and  indefatigable  suggester. 

But  it  was  Kate  Markoe,  either  because  of  a  too  acute  apti- 
tude for  sympathy,  or  a  forced  wooing  of  irregular  buoyancy, 
feverish  and  fluctuating  as  the  weak  flutter  of  a  sick  insect, 
or  by  way  of  feigning  a  false  courage  which  she  fondly  be- 
lieved might  strengthen  the  little  circle  about  her,  presented 
a  picture  which  the  Ambassador  acknowledged  day  by  day 
with  more  and  more  discomforting  disquietude. 

The  Ambassador's  wife  had  boasted  her  short  life 
through  of  having  sprung  from  New  England  stock. 

But  society  had  taught  Mrs.  Markoe  her  value.  Knowl- 
edge of  the  world  had  set  its  seal  against  her  mutinous 
lips  and  in  the  fascinating  depths  of  her  inscrutable  eyes. 

Until  now  Stephen  Markoe  had  been  too  loyal  to  allow 
that  she  was  spoiled.  This  summer  she  evinced  moods  so 
mercurial,  manners  so  elusive,  ways  so  utterly  out  of  gear 
with  any  presupposed  contingency  that,  whereas  in  the 
Ambassador's  ordinary  tread-mill  of  duty  the  fact  of  her 
fickle  treatment  of  life  would  have  passed  by  him  unre- 
marked, now,  with  every  sense  strained  to  its  utmost,  she 
represented  an  anomaly  which  defied  his  closest  inspection. 

She  was  "fond  of  being  alone,"  she  said,  when  her 
husband  questioned  her  as  to  the  cause  of  her  frequent 
trips  to  Paris,  from  which  she  returned  white  as  the  driven 
snow,  a  dim  light  in  her  eyes  which  predicted  the  ensuing 
day's  inevitable  collapse.  She  felt  "  overdone,"  she  would 

224 


A  LIGHT  WITH   SHADOWED   RAYS 

murmur  pitifully  as  an  excuse  for  any  discrepancy  in  her 
statements  as  to  what  she  had  purchased,  or  where  she  had 
been.  She  was  "dull";  she  "desired  diversion."  Fon- 
tainebleau,  in  spite  of  its  glorious  forest  and  splendid  palace, 
she  discovered  hot  and  flat.  Whereas  her  household  duties 
had  always  been  foremost, — she  was  a  woman  who  made  it 
part  of  her  creed  to  most  religiously  observe  her  husband's 
interests  in  the  small  details  of  fare  and  comfort, — she  now 
neglected  to  give  her  personal  attention  to  anything  but 
vague  and  dreamy  guesses  as  to  what  the  end  would  be. 

She  was  peevish,  too,  and  self-conscious.  Markoe  saw 
the  tears  on  her  cheeks  once  after  an  interview  with  Mrs. 
Conway,  in  which  Jack's  mother  had  been  greatly  startled 
at  the  Ambassadress,  suddenly,  with  the  most  touching 
humility,  bending  over  her  and  sobbing  in  a  choked, 
guilty  voice,  that  she  would  "give  her  life  to  help  Jack's 
mother  !' ' 

"Your  life  is  too  helpful  and  sweet  a  thing,  Kate,  to 
throw  it  away  so  lightly,"  Mrs.  Conway  had  returned. 
She  attributed  her  friend's  hysterical  speech  to  a  trip  she 
had  made  up  to  Paris  the  day  before  which  had  brought 
her  home  on  the  midnight  train, — a  fact  which  the  Ambas- 
sador had  peremptorily  forbidden  to  occur  again. 

"You  may  consider  it  unobjectionable  to  be  seen  at  that 
hour  alone  ;' '  he  said,  ' '  but  the  Ambassadress  must  not 
lay  herself  open  to  questioning.  You  forget  that  you  have 
a  marked  personality,  and  that  your  movements  will  be 
considered  undignified  in  our  present  position  if  you  over- 
step a  certain  path  laid  down  by  propriety. ' ' 

She  had  looked  back  at  him  tearfully  when  he  made  his 
speech,  standing  steadily  under  the  lamp  which  swung 
from  the  roof  of  the  porte  cochere  regarding  her  omi- 
nously. She  saw, — with  a  choking  sob  welling  up  in  her 
throat,  a  sensation  with  which  she  was  becoming  curiously 
is  225 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

familiar,  a  feeling  which  she  fought  out  in  the  privacy  of 
her  own  room  with  clinched  fists  (the  limp  aspect  she 
presented  the  following  day  confirmed  this) — that  his  face 
was  set,  its  expression  invincibly  stern. 

' '  I  am  pleased  that  you  care  a  little, ' '  she  whispered 
gratefully  as  she  passed  him,  to  his  intense  surprise. 

He  had  thought  she  would  flash  out  some  rejoinder,  of 
which  she  always  carried  a  fuller  equipment  than  most 
women.  Her  complete  and  visible  subjection  made  him 
wince. 

' '  You  understand,  I  cannot  have  my  wife  laid  open  to 
misinterpretations,"  he  blurted  out,  following  her,  striving 
blindly,  in  a  mannish  way,  to  make  up  for  the  roughness  of 
his  rebuke. 

But  she  was  not  to  be  appeased,  it  seemed. 

"  I  need  sleep,"  she  said,  without  turning. 

And  as  he  stood,  most  helplessly,  watching  her  graceful 
back  as  she  climbed  the  stairs,  he  wondered,  with  a  sharp 
stab,  if  rest  would  ever  be  his  portion  in  this  world. 

Markoe  entered  his  private  office  one  muggy  day  in  Sep- 
tember to  find  a  figure  standing,  with  its  back  to  him,  be- 
fore a  small  wood  fire  which  his  office-boy  had  laid  to  greet 
him.  There  had  been  a  harbinger  of  autumn  in  the  air,  as 
he  drove  from  the  Gare  de  Lyons  to  the  Embassy  in  his 
open  trap.  As  his  footsteps  crossed  the  threshold  the 
figure  turned.  The  act  disclosed  a  smug  countenance  with 
hair  chopped  short  front  and  sides,  and  left  long  at  the  back. 

"Lubin  !"  he  cried. 

"  At  monsieur's  service." 

There  had  been  a  stormy  interview  some  weeks  before  in 
which  Lubin  had  come  out  second  best.  The  Ambassador 
had  declared  in  outspoken  terms  his  opinion  that  the  French 
detective  service  was  not  worth  its  salt ;  that  for  stupendous 
inefficiency  it  out-Heroded  Herod. 

226 


A  LIGHT  WITH   SHADOWED   RAYS 

Lubin  had  listened  to  his  employer's  peroration  with  com- 
pressed lips  and  flaming  eyes.  When  it  was  concluded  he 
had  asked  to  be  let  off.  To  this  the  Ambassador,  with  con- 
tempt, had  acquiesced.  Since  then  Lubin  had  pursued  a 
search  of  his  own,  the  result  of  which  he  had  come  to  offer 
for  a  consideration. 

When  the  amount  of  the  consideration  had  been  dis- 
cussed— to  be  gauged  by  the  value  of  the  information  dis- 
closed— Lubin  spoke, — 

' '  I  came  to  say  I  discovered  a  clue.  I  could  have 
informed  monsieur  of  this  clue  some  weeks  since,  had 
monsieur  signified  the  respect  for  my  talents  I  have  always 
been  led  to  consider  was  their  due.  Rather,  however, 
than  plead  for  justice,  or  yet  offer  a  loophole  of  hope  which 
might  lift  monsieur  onto  a  pinnacle  of  joy,  only  to  be 
dashed  to  the  ground,  a  state  of  things  which  monsieur 
contemplates  with  less  indifference  than  we  humbler  indi- 
viduals who  are  obliged  to  cultivate  patience," — this  rebuke 
with  a  deliberation  which  highly  elated  his  listener,  —  "I 
waited.  Monsieur  will,  sans  doute,  find  fault  with  my 
methods  ;  it  is  his  way.  He  will  be  unreasonable,  indeed, 
does  he  also  repudiate  my  facts. ' ' 

"  It  is  not  the  facts  I  am  receiving, ' '  grumbled  Markoe, 
impatiently.  ' '  This  is  what  I  should  call  a  prelude,  Lubin. 
I  would  advise  you,  in  Americanese,  to  'go  ahead.'  ' 

Lubin  was  not  a  scholar  of  any  proved  penetration  ;  but 
he  had  encountered  slack  too  often  not  to  recognize  when 
he  came  in  contact  with  fire. 

' '  I  hesitate,  because  with  my  disclosure  I  fear  to  annoy 
Monsieur  1'  Ambassadeur, ' '  he  ventured. 

"  As  for  that,  my  annoyances  are  daily  increasing,"  cried 
Markoe.  ' '  For  unadulterated  cussedness  give  me  the 
present  situation,  which  should  have  been  cleared  up  in  a 
month, — and  would  have  been  elsewhere,"  he  concluded, 

227 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

under  his  breath.  ' '  Out  with  your  news,  Lubin.  If  red 
tape  is  in  the  way,  we  will  down  that." 

Lubin' s  little,  congested  face  reddened.  His  eyes  grew 
beady.  He  pompously  drew  himself  up.  He  began, — 

"  I  have  monsieur's  permission,  then,  to  speak  of  what  I 
know  ?  We  are  alone  ?' ' 

Markoe's  sole  response  to  this  question  was  to  draw  the 
curtain  of  a  window  which  looked  across  the  avenue,  which 
for  width  and  space  had  led  him  to  choose  it  for  a  place  of 
residence  and  sanitary  comfort.  He  said,  returning  to  his 
chair,  "  We  are  alone." 

' '  We  will  imagine  the  case  given  up  in  the  first  place, ' ' 
murmured  Lubin,  in  his  sing-song  voice.  "  Monsieur  will 
remember  that  it  was  but  the  i3th  of  June  when  he  signi- 
fied to  me  that  my  services  might  be  discontinued.  I  sal- 
lied forth  with  a  sickening  sense  of  failure.  Mine  is  not  the 
character  which  holds  its  victim  by  the  eyelids,  promising 
aid  when  I  see  no  hope  of  hinting  at  accomplishment  which 
later  may  not  be  substantiated.  Rather,  I  get  myself  dis- 
liked. Monsieur  only  played  into  my  hands  when  he  did 
me  the  honor  to  dismiss  me,"  triumphantly.  "  But  I  never 
let  go.  Those  who  know  Lubin  call  him  the  bull-dog.  For 
tenacity,  monsieur,  Lubin  has  no  equal.  Only  death  stands 
in  the  way  of  his  fight  for  justice. ' '  The  congested  face  was 
lifted  with  a  radiant  expression  of  self-approval. 

' '  An  admirable  state  of  things, ' '  interpolated  the  Ambas- 
sador. He  had  by  this  time  concluded  to  let  the  little  man 
have  his  say.  He  was  burning  with  impatience  ;  but  he  had 
learned  within  the  past  few  weeks  that  the  Latin  race  must 
always  play  its  role, — itself  a  chosen,  and  invariably  ap- 
proving, audience. 

"  As  I  sauntered  forth  I  saw  the  most  noble  Ambassa- 
dress's carriage  drive  from  the  courtyard  into  the  alley- way 
towards  the  street.  The  Ambassadress  descended,  attired 

228 


in  a  violet  creation  which  so  ravished  my  humble  vision  that 
I  stopped  short,  consumed  with  the  profoundest  apprecia- 
tion. She  stepped  into  her  carriage.  I  stood  still  for  no 
reason  whatsoever,  unless  the  desire  a  modest  soul  experi- 
ences to  profit  off  the  generously  exhibited  charms  of  the 
illustrious.  The  carriage  of  the  Ambassadress  but  turned 
the  corner  before,  after  slowly  rolling  down  the  Cours  la 
Reine,  it  stopped  before  an  apartment  house  in  the  Avenue 
d'  lena.  I  had  hardly  realized  this  fact — I  was  idly  strolling 
up  and  down  the  Avenue  de  Trocadero  the  while,  my  hands 
in  my  pockets,  my  thoughts  warring  against  my  own  impo- 
tence to  discover  a  clue  to  that  mysterious  affair  at  Carem- 
bourg — when  I  saw  the  same  bewildering  violet  creation 
vision  roll  past  me  again,  this  time  towards  the  Louvre.  I 
remember  thinking  to  myself  that  did  I  have  the  same 
leisure  at  my  command  I  would  frequent  the  Bois  rather 
than  do  a  round  of  shopping  indoors.  Then  I  recollected 
the  duties  of  a  society  queen,  and  decided  to  make  my  way 
to  the  Rue  Royale  to  interview  a  fellow-operator.  The 
consciousness  of  failure  was  nettling  me  like  a  brier.  As  I 
passed  down  the  Rue  Royale,  after  descending  from  the 
Porte  Maillot  omnibus,  a  figure  in  violet  drove  past  me 
again.  It  was  the  figure  of  the  Ambassadress,  but  this 
time  she  was  in  a  fiacre  !  Full  of  the  enigma  which  was 
puzzling  me — it  was  only  after  she  had  passed  me  I  came 
into  the  knowledge  that  this  time  she  had  been  in  a  fiacre — 
I  wondered  !  Had  she  met  with  an  accident  ?  Had  she  sub- 
stituted a  common  hackney  for  her  own  luxurious  victoria  ? 
No.  For  just  here  her  own  carriage  passed  me  empty, 
going  towards  the  Bois.  Monsieur  may  imagine  that  a 
man  who  has  for  years  considered  it  his  duty  to  unravel 
mysteries  has  a  sense  which  puts  him  on  the  track  of  a  new 
scent,  the  way  a  dog  smells  out  a  bird.  I  followed  the  fiacre 
which  contained  the  Ambassadress  without  further  ado. ' ' 

229 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

"  She  drove  home,  and  again  you  were  nonplussed  !" 

The  voice  was  vibrant.  The  Ambassador's  hand  had 
lifted,  and  was  scooped  above  his  brows.  His  face,  thus, 
was  in  shadow. 

' '  Pardon  me.  Not  so.  The  Ambassadress  had  tied  a 
thick  veil  over  her  face — when  I  was  not  looking.  But 
I  knew  I  could  not  be  mistaken  in  her  figure,  which  is 
markedly  tall  and  graceful.  When  she  reached  the  Rue 
Drouot  she  alighted  before  a  wine-shop,  paid  her  cocher, 
and  dismissed  him.  Then,  after  parleying  for  five  minutes 
or  so  with  a  small  urchin,  to  whom  she  gave  two  francs  for 
his  information,  she  climbed  a  flight  of  stairs,  and  knocked 
on  a  door  upon  which  was  imprinted,  in  big  letters,  one 
word. ' ' 

"That  word?" 

"Was  Mariotti." 

The  Ambassador  did  not  move. 

¥¥ 

CHAPTER    XXIX 

CHECKMATE 

"  MONSIEUR  may  not  be  aware  that  Mariotti  is  a  clown 
who  has  been  in  evidence  some  time  in  Paris  because  of  a 
certain  genius  he  possesses  for  amusing  the  public.  In  my 
opinion  he  is  a  charlatan.  But  this,  to  the  public,  is  a 
matter  of  indifference.  It  welcomes — I  have  discovered — 
humbug  more  uproariously  than  worth.  The  first  requires 
no  effort.  The  second  manifestly  exacts  thought.  So 
humbug  goes. ' ' 

"You  left  the  Ambassadress  at  Mariotti' s ?" 
' '  My  name  is  Lubin  !     The  idea  of  her  collusion  with 
the  charlatan  appeared  to  me  more  and  more  odious  as  I 

230 


CHECKMATE 

stood  there  under  the  frowning  arch  of  a  neighboring 
building.  That  this  most  beauteous  lady  should  have 
cause  to  confer  with  so  distinguished  a  rascal  as  Mariotti 
roused  all  my  inquisitiveness.  I  waited.  After  a  half- 
hour's  time  she  descended  the  stairs  rapidly,  and  looked 
about  her  fearfully, — monsieur  will  pardon  me  for  my  ad- 
verbs,"— at  the  Ambassador's  fierce  scowl  and  gesture  of 
almost  uncontrollable  impatience.  ' '  She  hailed  a  fiacre 
and  drove  home.  This  time  Mariotti  followed  her.  He 
evidently  was  desirous  too  of  unearthing  her  identity. 
When  she  arrived  at  her  home  she  alighted.  So  did  he. 
She  dismissed  her  cab.  Ditto  Mariotti.  After  she  en- 
tered the  Embassy  Mariotti  crept  past  the  wall  where  I 
stood  placidly  eyeing  a  mason  at  work  on  a  scaffolding, 
and  darted  into  the  grocer's  near,  then  the  chemist's,  and 
across  the  road  to  be  lost  to  view.  I  bought  a  stamp  at 
the  tobacconist's,  who  told  me  the  Gascon  had  just  called 
there  to  inquire  who  lived  at  61  Avenue  Marceau,  at  the 
chemist's,  who  rattled  off  a  dissertation  about  American 
fortunes, — leading  me  to  suppose  that  it  had  been  a  recent 
subject  of  conversation  with  him  and  at  the  grocer's,  who 
was  dumb.  After  that  I  went  home." 

' '  If  you  have  finished ' ' 

"Monsieur  is  premature;  I  have  not  finished.  This 
was  two  months  ago.  The  affair  had  almost  escaped  my 
memory,  when  one  day,  not  long  since,  I  caught  up  a 
penny  sheet  let  loose  on  the  boulevards  which  related,  in 
gigantic  type,  the  rise  of  the  clown  Mariotti.  I  went  to 
his  play-house,  a  new  one,  which  has  been  built  by  some 
magic  in  two  months  in  the  place  of  the  old  house,  a 
broken-down  and  dingy  specimen  of  decay.  There  is  no 
doubt  the  Gascon's  star  is  in  the  ascendant.  But  from 
where  does  he  obtain  his  funds  ?  That  is  the  question,  a 
riddle  which  remained  unsolved  until  recently. ' ' 

231 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

Lubin,  who  up  to  this  had  stood  modestly  at  a  distance 
from  his  listener,  now  moved  forward  with  a  look  of  cun- 
ning pervading  his  square,  undersized  form.  His  little 
eyes  gleamed  with  that  concentrated  light  which  flames  up 
in  the  orbs  of  a  viper  when  its  forked  tongue  prepares  to 
dart  out  and  perform  its  deadly  work  with  unfaltering  skill. 
His  words  tumbled  over  one  another  in  their  author's 
eagerness  to  betray  his  own  extraordinary  prowess.  He 
forgot  that  the  man  he  addressed  cherished  the  woman  the 
detective  was  accusing  like  the  core  of  his  heart.  If  he 
remembered  it,  he  ignored  it,  as  lesser  mortals  ignore  th6se 
refinements  which  go  to  make  up  the  fibre  of  a  higher 
instinct. 

"Yesterday  I  completed  a  scheme  which  I  have  been 
carrying  out  for  weeks,"  murmured  Lubin,  proudly. 
' '  Detection  governs  an  arena  which  demands  rare  inge- 
nuity of  control.  I  patched  some  pieces  together  that  had 
come  in  my  way  through  an  inadvertence.  I  had  made  an 
exhaustive  inquiry  as  to  Mariotti's  ways  and  means.  The 
former  were  less  difficult  to  explain  than  the  latter.  No- 
body could  in  the  least  determine  the  fellow's  unfathom- 
able means  of  livelihood.  To  be  sure,  he  was  turning 
crowds  away  nightly  from  his  theatre,  but  his  expenditures 
far  exceeded  his  profits,  and  what  puzzled  me  was  where 
did  he  obtain  the  funds  with  which  to  establish  himself  so 
luxuriously,  whereas  only  six  months  ago  his  reputation 
had  been  synonymous  with  everything  that  was  sordid 
and  commonplace.  There  was  another  thought  which 
warred  in  my  veins, — a  burr  in  my  nostrils.  This  was  how 
madame  the  Ambassadress  could  have  deigned  to  take 
notice  of  a  humble  clown  who  by  his  comrades  is  desig- 
nated as  the  slipperiest  eel  of  his  species.  Yesterday  the 
riddle  was  solved  !  I  had  an  errand  which  took  me  into 
the  quarter  of  the  Gare  de  Lyons.  Monsieur  will  believe 

232 


CHECKMATE 

that  no  vulgar  curiosity  prompted  the  action.  I  confess, 
however,  that,  upon  perceiving  the  Ambassadress  alight 
from  an  incoming  train,  I  had  the  temerity  to  jump  into  a 
fiacre  and  follow  a  liveried  hack  which  met  her  at  the 
station.  She  drove  straight  to  Mariotti's  quarters.  I 
stood  outside.  In  my  soul  there  lurked  the  deprecation 
Of  a  humble  observer  of  ills  who  deplores  the  whims  of  a 
great  lady  who,  by  circumstance,  is  deprived  of  that  con- 
tact with  mankind  which  teaches  us  subordinates  the  law 
that  much  is  better  left  unturned." 

' '  Spare  me  your  asides, ' '  interpolated  the  Ambassador 
at  this  issue,  in  a  low  voice.  "State  facts,"  His  under 
lip  was  bitten  in  between  his  strong  teeth  until  it  looked 
like  a  line  of  stiffened  pink  clay.  His  hand,  which  hung 
over  the  arm  of  his  chair,  opened  and  shut  restlessly. 

' '  I  am  done.  I  saw  Mariotti  accompany  the  Ambassa- 
dress to  her  carriage.  She  was  very  white.  Her  veil  was 
up.  There  were  tears  in  her  eyes.  He  was  bowing  and 
scraping,  curving  in  and  out,  as  he  walked  with  her  across 
the  pavings.  I  crept  up  close.  They  neither  of  them 
perceived  me, — by  this  that  had  been  a  matter  of  indiffer- 
ence. She  handed  him  a  roll  of  bank-notes  from  a  small 
satchel  she  carried  and  made  use  of  these  words  :  '  I  beseech 
you  make  haste,  Mariotti.  My  patience  is  almost  spent. ' 

"  '  Madame  has  trusted  me  thus  far,'  the  rogue  answered 
her  through  his  teeth.  '  The  affair  will  take  time,  I  have 
told  her.' 

' '  '  Time  !'  she  echoed,  despairingly,  almost  with  a  sob. 
1  It  has  been  three  months  already. '  Then  she  entered 
her  carriage  and  drove  away.  I  was  torn  between  two  de- 
sires :  to  keep  watch  of  Mariotti  and  to  follow  her.  I 
chose  Mariotti.  I  have  said  this  was  yesterday." 

"But " 

Lubin  interrupted.  ' '  When  the  Ambassadress  said  the 

233 


A   NEW  RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

affair  had  been  three  months  already,  I  set  my  wits  at 
work  in  another  corner  of  my  brain.  What  had  been 
1  three  months'  ?  Why,  the  strange  disappearance  of 
Monsieur  Convvay  !  Mariotti  must,  then,  have  a  clue.  I 
decided  to  wait,  but  so  sure  was  I  monsieur  must  know  of 
this  enlightenment  I  came  here  to-day  to  inform  him  of  it. 
I  will  dog  Mariotti' s  footsteps  hereafter  until  I  know  every 
corner  of  his  life.  It  might  be  wise  if  Monsieur  1'Ambas- 
sadeur  questioned  madame  the  Ambassadress." 

' '  Your  suggestion  is  superfluous.  The  Ambassadress  is 
a  law  unto  herself. ' ' 

If  Markoe's  authoritative  words  just  here  harbored  an 
irony  which,  in  spite  of  him,  revealed  itself,  he  was  uncon- 
scious of  it.  He  was  bitterly  aware  only  that  his  wife  was 
pursuing  some  secret  chimera  which  had  not  been  sub- 
mitted to  him.  Apart  from  the  indignation  he  felt  that 
she  had  chosen  to  deceive  him,  there  had  sprung  to  life 
a  memory  which,  strive  as  he  might,  stood  forward 
strongly  potent  to  undo  him  ;  the  memory  of  a  sentence 
which  her  pallid  lips  had  let  forth  the  evening  she  had 
fainted  upon  hearing  the  news  of  Conway's  disappearance. 
"  I  have  been  very  weak  and  foolish,"  she  had  whispered. 
Had  she  referred,  in  her  womanly  breakdown,  to  a  mental 
or  a  moral  consciousness  ?  He  could  not  tell.  She  was 
his  pearl  of  great  price.  Flawless,  he  was  certain  ;  but  had 
her  love  of  admiration  carried  her  too  far  into  that  land 
of  insatiable  ambition  which  is  the  unhappy  niche  of  the 
vain  and  frivolous  ? 

"  I  consider  that  you  have  been  guilty  of  an  impertinence, 
Lubin,"  vouchsafed  the  Ambassador. 

Lubin  looked  bitterly  crestfallen. 

"  It  may  be  the  privilege  of  professional  experts  to  root 
out  the  doings  of  private  individuals,  but  I  doubt  it.  Mrs. 
Markoe  is  a  patroness  of  Mariotti;  he  is  a  man  of  rare 

234 


CHECKMATE 

talent,  notwithstanding  his  fantastic  version  of  life.  He  is 
but  one  of  the  many  charitable  objects  upon  which  the 
Ambassadress  confers  her  patronage  with  my  permission" 

Lubin  looked  piercingly  back  at  the  eyes  which  were 
regarding  him  so  resolutely  and  with  such  cutting  con- 
tempt. A  gleam  came  into  his  own,  the  gleam  of  the  cat 
that  fears  the  possible  escape  of  her  victim. 

"Monsieur  was  then  aware  that  the  Ambassadress 
visited  Mario tti  ?' ' 

' '  Since  when  have  you  constituted  yourself  the  detective 
of  my  private  affairs  ?' ' 

"  Since  monsieur  did  me  the  honor  to  appoint  me  his 
servant.  A  master  may  not  be  a  hero  to  his  valet.  The 
strings  of  justice  are  often  complicated.  I  have  done  my 
duty  only  in  striving  to  unearth  Monsieur  Conway's  where- 
abouts. I  shall  now  consider  Mariotti.  If  Monsieur 
1'Ambassadeur  desires  that  I  discontinue  my  study  of  the 
main  issue  which  threw  him  in  my  path  he  shall  be 
obeyed. ' ' 

Lubin' s  face  was  as  bland  and  artless  as  a  school-boy's. 

"That  is  my  command.  The  Ambassadress  is  in  no 
manner  whatsoever  concerned  in  the  accident  of  Conway's 
disappearance.  Understand  !  We  will  leave  her  name  out 
of  the  question  altogether." 

The  Ambassador  was  frowning  heavily. 

Lubin  bowed  and  moved  backward  a  little  towards  the 
door. 

"  In  a  week's  time,"  said  Markoe,  "you  may  call  again 
at  this  hour,  and  give  me  all  the  information  you  may  have 
obtained  in  the  interim  about  Mariotti." 

Lubin  withdrew. 

Then  Markoe  rose  heavily.  He  walked  to  his  desk  and 
turned  over  some  letters  which  lay  there.  As  he  did  so  a 
blue  envelope  came  to  view  surmounted  with  an  unas- 

235 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

suming  French  crest  in  superlatively  good  taste.  The 
Ambassador  drew  the  letter  from  the  envelope  ;  it  had 
been  read  already  ;  its  contents  considered.  It  was  an  in- 
vitation from  the  proprietor  of  Carembourg  requesting  the 
United  States  representative,  his  wife,  and  Mrs.  Conway 
to  come  and  spend  the  week,  beginning  the  next  day,  at 
his  chateau. 

The  turn  of  events  was  astonishing.  The  enemy  had 
placed  himself  in  his  hands.  He  had  determined  to  de- 
cline his  hospitality,  fully  recognizing  the  generosity  of 
the  man  who  had  chosen  to  ignore  international  difficulties 
during  a  period  of  almost  intolerable  annoyance.  But  as 
he  stood  with  the  letter  in  his  hand,  gradually  a  plan  formu- 
lated,— a  growth  which  was  a  rank  output  of  the  past  half- 
hour's  protest.  He  would  go  to  Carembourg,  because 
the  play  was  a  good  play,  and  the  situation  promised  a 
racy  development.  He  would  accept  Lamballe's  invitation, 
as  a  friend  instead  of  an  usurper.  He  would  respond  as 
the  invited  guest  of  the  man  who  trusted  him  and  whom 
he  trusted  with  that  grim  sense  of  Admiration  which  he  was 
every  day  more  slowly  and  surely  admitting.  He  would 
accompany  Mrs.  Markoe  and,  of  course,  Mrs.  Conway 
for  distraction.  The  two  women  were  anxious  to  accept 
Lamballe's  genial  hospitality.  They  were  consumed  with 
an  anxiety  which  would,  in  a  faint  measure,  be  assuaged 
by  new  scenes  and  new  faces.  They  needed  the  change. 

If  at  one  and  the  same  time  Mrs.  Markoe  would  be  un- 
der the  surveillance  of  her  husband  through  daily  inter- 
course, if  her  moods  might  thus  be  subjected  to  a  skilful 
observation,  this  visit  would  accomplish  the  object  of  deter- 
mining some  interrogations  in  the  wounded  and  unconsid- 
ered  brain  of  the  provider  of  her  charitable  expenditures 
and  thereby  attain  the  dignity  of  a  master-stroke. 

Killing  two  birds  with  one  stone  is  often  a  successful 

236 


AT  CAREMBOURG 

albeit  a  daring  process.  The  Ambassador  while  deploring 
the  fact  of  his  wife's  perfidy  simultaneously  recognized  his 
right  to  exercise  the  prerogative  of  a  commanding  position. 

At  Carembourg  she  would  be  constantly  on  view  ;  an 
honored  guest,  she  must  round  the  week  out.  There 
would  be  no  excuse  in  those  seven  days  for  mysterious 
visits  to  Paris.  There  would  be  little  reason  for  complaint. 
Noblesse  oblige.  She  must  play  her  chosen  part  straight 
through  to  the  bitter  end  in  public,  not  in  private,  before 
an  audience  which  contemplated  her  variable  moods  with 
keenest  attentiveness  and  unflagging  diligence. 

As  the  Ambassador  dictated  an  acceptance  to  his  secre- 
tary his  neutral  eyes  presented  a  new,  curiously  steadfast 
aspect  of  defiance,  which,  before  he  reached  Fontainebleau 
that  night,  had  set  in  coldest  steel. 


CHAPTER    XXX 

AT   CAREMBOURG 

THE  Ambassador  and  his  wife  were  made  to  feel  un- 
limited hospitality  by  their  host  from  the  moment  they  left 
Paris,  with  Mrs.  Conway  and  her  maid,  until  they  reached 
the  ivy-covered  nook  which  flourished  under  the  dignified 
sobriquet  of  station  in  the  dimple  between  the  hills,  upon 
one  of  which  stood  forth,  gauntly  stripped  of  superfluous 
detail,  the  chateau. 

Lamballe  and  his  servants  met  the  little  party  at  the 
station  in  two  open  landaus  drawn  by  superbly  caparisoned 
steeds.  It  was  not  long  before,  after  a  refreshing  drive 
through  a  rolling  country  which  to  the  jaded  traveller's  in- 
terested gaze  seemed  to  unfold  gently  like  a  panorama 
especially  created  for  their  delight,  they  were  driven  into  a 

23? 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

vast  court-yard.  Quaint  old-worldiness  and  curious  nooks 
and  crannies  prepared  them  somewhat  for  the  musical  clang 
of  a  silver-toned  bell.  This  clamored  noisily  as  they  drove 
across  a  low  stone  bridge  barred  off  from  the  castle  with  a 
portcullis  which  had  stood  guard  for  centuries  over  a  moat 
which  hemmed  in  the  chateau  grounds. 

Once  inside  the  moat  the  chateau — a  battered  granite 
thing  of  severe  outlines  and  intrinsic  beauty — loomed  be- 
fore them  against  a  cool,  green,  silent  background  of  ever- 
lasting hills.  For  peacefulness  and  stateliness,  as  a  retreat 
from  the  bustling  market-place  far  away  to  the  west, 
against  whose  horizon  could  be  seen  at  intervals  a  fluctu- 
ating trail  of  smoke,  the  only  vaporous  smirch  against  the 
limpidest  of  landscapes,  it  was  not  difficult  to  imagine  why 
the  owner  of  Carembourg  valued  his  worldly  paradise  with 
reason  as  a  balm  for  any  and  every  unrest. 

The  full  glory  of  the  view,  however,  only  came  home  to 
the  little  party  of  foreign  guests  later,  when  they  had  en- 
tered and  gathered  together  in  a  vast  hall  with  wide  win- 
dows and  an  unobstructed  view  of  the  laughing  valley 
below.  As  in  all  feudal  principalities,  the  village  nestled  in 
the  valley  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  ;  the  chateau  stood 
alone  on  its  isolated  peak  at  the  top  of  the  hills,  majestically 
presiding  over  the  hazy  melting  sky,  the  capricious  valley, 
and  the  sentinel  rows  of  undulating  peaks. 

The  Carembourg  valley  was  wide,  dented  in  the  middle 
like  a  woman's  breast.  The  fulnesses  thereof  rose  on 
either  side.  One  of  these  was  known  as  Wallindorf,  and 
the  other  as  Carembourg.  Carembourg  consisted  chiefly 
of  its  castle  ;  Wallindorf  solely  of  a  straggling  village, 
presided  over  by  a  vine-clad  promontory,  which  loomed 
above  it  sombrely  and  cut  off  the  vanishing  orb  of  day, 
casting  long  shadows  across  its  road-ways  a  full  half-hour 
before  the  other  portion  of  the  valley  had  done  shimmer- 

238 


AT   CAREMBOURG 

ing  in  the  sunshine.  It  was  through  the  middle  of  this 
shadowed  portion  of  the  valley  across  which  fluttered  the 
long,  broad  line  of  scarlet  which,  like  a  sluggish  life-stream, 
grew  wan  and  gray  with  each  autumn's  frosty  breath,  as 
though  to  refute  the  past  summer's  glowing  protest.  Like 
the  commanding  generals  of  two  advancing  armies  the 
peaks  confronted  one  another  defiantly,  the  long,  red  line, 
like  a  bloody  chasm,  between. 

This  view  alone  might  have  been  responsible  in  great 
measure  for  Ferdinand  Lamballe's  love  of  country  and 
detestation  of  a  nation  which  had  so  ruthlessly,  if  justly, 
demanded  her  pound  of  flesh  when  her  enemy  was  at  her 
mercy.  The  burning  sense  of  chagrin,  abetted  by  a  con- 
stant contemplation  of  a  past  defeat,  fostered  that  suppu- 
rating wound  which  under  more  moderate  auspices  might 
have  healed  or  been  appeased. 

Life  at  Carembourg  was  one  of  those  semi-Bohemian, 
gloriously  benevolent  things  which  are  dreamt  of,  but 
seldom  realized.  For  munificent  hospitality,  for  royal 
benevolence,  each  guest  his  own  master,  president  of  his 
individual  suite,  governor  of  his  time  and  his  inclination, 
it  was  like  a  collection  of  little  states  in  one  household, 
where  a  systematic  regulation  wheeled  its  mechanism  in 
and  out  noiselessly,  the  recipients  thereof  made  aware  of 
but  one  paramount  fact — that  they  were  welcome. 

Markoe  fished  furiously  the  first  few  days  with  his  host, 
who  escorted  him  like  a  laughing  child  from  his  galleries 
to  his  wine-cellars,  from  his  stables  to  his  poultry-yards 
and  conservatories,  to  then,  with  a  sweeping  gesture,  pro- 
nounce this  entire  magnificent  domain  at  his  guest's  dis- 
posal. There  was  so  much  ingenuousness  in  this  simple, 
great-hearted  man  whom  fate  had  frowned  upon  only  to  be 
lifted  up,  that  his  bonhomie  remained  with  Markoe  more 
and  more  as  his  prejudices  drifted  out. 

239 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

That  international  complication  was  a  tabooed  subject  in 
these  days  ;  tacitly  they  all  ignored  it,  until  the  grave 
problem  which  was  undermining  much  of  their  pleasure 
and  all  of  their  peace  had  been  either  conquered  or  set  at 
rest.  So  that  the  odd  spectacle  of  the  United  States  Am- 
bassador fishing  and  hunting  on  the  very  land  which  a  few 
weeks  before  had  been  the  sorest  point  of  contention  be- 
tween two  nations  merged  itself  into  an  every-day  fact, 
instead  of  confirming,  as  it  might  have  done  under  other 
auspices,  a  triumph  or  defeat. 

The  Ambassadress  and  Mrs.  Conway  had  been  overjoyed 
to  find  among  Lamballe's  select  party  Marguerite,  Duchesse 
de  Launoy.  She  was  temporarily  established  as  chatelaine 
in  their  honor.  This  rare  woman  refurbished  old  memories, 
instituted  diversions,  and  suggested  amusements  which 
made  the  two  sad  guests  almost  forget  the  insidious  growth 
which  was  faster  and  faster  quenching  any  capacity  for 
enjoyment  in  their  sickening  veins. 

The  kindness  displayed  at  this  time,  the  delicacy  of  feel- 
ing expressed  without  being  worded,  the  anxiety  fore- 
stalled, the  shielding  care  administered  by  Lamballe  and 
the  Duchesse,  were  elements  never  forgotten  in  after  years 
by  their  guests.  It  would  have  been  the  most  natural  of 
errors  to  have  surprised  the  wound,  to  have  exposed  and 
irritated  the  supposition  which  was  gradually  taking  shud- 
dering secret  form  and  substance  with  them  all,  that  Con- 
way's  disappearance  was  to  become  one  of  those  hideous, 
too  frequent  features  of  so-called  modern  civilization  which 
defy  any  adequate  translation. 

But  the  subject,  if  discussed,  was  so  tenderly  handled,  the 
reaction  subsequent  to  such  unavoidable  communion  so  deli- 
cately felt,  the  underlying  pursuit  so  dauntlessly  carried  on, 
that  words  alone  could  not  have  conveyed  the  gratitude  or 
the  appreciation  of  Conway' s  mother  or  that  of  his  friends. 

240 


AT  CAREMBOURG 

After  those  two  first  days  in  which  the  Ambassador  had, 
with  a  settled  melancholy  in  his  gaze,  contemplated  his 
wife's  delicate  face  with  changed  eyes,  an  event  came 
crashing  through  their  nest  of  temporary  tranquillity  which 
sorely  tried  him. 

He  had  gone,  one  morning  early,  with  fishing  parapher- 
nalia, to  meet  his  host,  who,  the  night  before,  had  been 
called  suddenly  to  Paris  on  an  undivulged  errand.  The 
two  had  agreed  to  unite  forces,  the  following  morning  at 
daybreak,  on  the  border  of  a  trout  stream  which  tore 
through  the  fastnesses  of  the  forest,  tossing,  turning, 
gleaming,  gliding  in  all  the  prismatic  evolutions  of  a  re- 
leased soul. 

Burgess  was  still  at  Carembourg.  He  had  a  theory  of 
his  own  in  regard  to  young  Conway's  whereabouts  which 
he  stolidly  refused  to  divulge.  He  had  remained  at  the 
little  inn  ever  since  the  sad  going  out  of  his  young 
master,  with  a  dogged  fidelity  to  the  place  which  had  last 
harbored  the  strong  young  figure,  more  like  a  dog's  than 
a  man's. 

Lamballe  did  not  appear  at  the  rendezvous. 

Markoe,  after  an  enchanting  morning  in  which  he  had  bat- 
tled with  the  gamest  trout  he  had  ever  captured,  soaked  with 
the  tossing  current  in  which  he  had  stood  knee- deep, 
wrestling  with  the  elements, — it  was  a  wild  day,  with  nips 
of  frost  in  the  air,  gleams  of  capricious  sunshine,  and  wind 
which  roared  along  the  valley  with  hoarsening  vehemence, 
— finally  concluded  his  host  had  been  detained  in  Paris. 
He  fastened  his  captured  adversaries  together,  disposed  of 
them  in  a  neat  little  basket  lined  with  freshest  moss,  which 
he  had  prepared  for  this  auspicious  contingency,  should  it 
materialize, — which  it  had  done  with  becoming  subser- 
vience to  the  distinction  of  Lamballe's  guest, — and,  lifting 
his  rod  over  his  shoulder,  made  his  way  towards  a  small 
16  241 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

hut  near  the  edge  of  the  road,  some  distance  from  Carem- 
bourg,  to  disentangle  his  fishing-tackle.  It  seemed  to  the 
Ambassador's  slightly  vague  calculation,  as  he  approached 
it,  to  be  quite  across  the  dividing  line  which  had  been 
pointed  out  to  him.  Was  the  hut  a  German  possession 
or  a  French  ?  he  was  asking  himself,  when  he  heard  voices. 

He  stopped  an  instant,  instinctively  lending  his  ear  to 
the  intonations  of  an  organ  whose  familiar  accent  arrested 
his  attention. 

"Oh,  tell  it  all  to  me,"  it  pleaded, — the  tones  were  a 
woman's,  broken,  tear-fraught.  "All,  from  the  begin- 
ning,— the  very  beginning  to  the  end." 

Then  Burgess's  voice  with  its  common  utterance  re- 
counted the  old  story  patiently,  not  omitting  one  detail  of 
the  journey  to  Carembourg,  the  two  days'  exhaustive  sur- 
vey, the  sudden  determination  on  the  surveyor's  part  to 
conclude  their  errand,  and  Conway's  assumption  of  the 
surveyor's  duty. 

' '  He  said  nothing  to  lead  you  to  suppose  he  would  not 
come  back  ?' '  the  feminine  voice  inquired,  still  brokenly. 

Burgess  hesitated.     He  scraped  his  throat. 

The  Ambassador  had  walked  forward  towards  the  little 
hut ;  but  as  the  two  figures,  which  his  view  commanded, 
stood  with  their  backs  turned  towards  him,  they  were,  as 
yet,  unaware  of  his  presence. 

He  heard  Burgess  say  slowly, — 

"Yes;  there  wus  one  thing,  mum,  I  remember  after- 
wards ;  he  says,  '  If  by  any  chance  I  should  not  cum  back, 
there  is  a  telegraph  blank  in  my  valise.'  He  also  hands 
me  at  this  the  seal  from  off  his  watch-chain,  sayin'  it 
might  '  betray  his  identity'  should  he  be  stopped.  Yer 
see,  mum,  it's  the  Conway  crest.  An  iron  hand  in  a  velvet 
glove. ' ' 

"Give  it  to  me." 

242 


DEFIANCE 

There  was  a  pause  here,  and  the  trinket  was   handed 

over. 

"You  think,  then,  he  was  fearful  he  might  be  -  ?" 
The  Ambassador  arrested   his  footsteps   in   astonished 

recognition.     The  voice  was  his  wife's  ! 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

DEFIANCE 

SHE  stood,  attired  in  a  filmy  black  morning  gown,  her 
pale  face  strained  and  ill-looking,  absorbing  the  surveyor's 
words  with  a  look  of  anguished  anxiety  which  could  not  be 
gainsaid. 

In  her  hand  she  held  Conway's  seal  :  an  intaglio  set  in 
dull  gold. 

"  I  had  told  him,  mum,  thet  the  French  poaching  laws 
promised  no  quarter.  He  seemed  to  like  thet.  I  think 
even  now  he  may  be  in  the  hands  of  some  of  them  slippery 
French  coves,  Lamballe's  servants,  unbeknownst  to  their 
boss.  These  'ere  foreigners  ain't  like  us.  They  has  ways 
and  means  that  'ud  stump  a  government  mule.  I  ain't 
presumin'  to  criticise  Mr.  Markoe's  business,  but  I  dare 
say  to  you,  mum,  thet  it's  my  opinion  thet  yer  French- 
man is  in  the  way  o'  pullin'  the  wool  over  yer  eyes  this 
time  to  hide  his  own  wickedness.  '  ' 

'  '  That  will  do,  Burgess,  '  '  interrupted  the  Ambassadress, 
imperiously.  '  '  You  may  go  now.  Say  nothing  to  any 
one." 

Burgess's  clumsy  figure  slunk  off  quietly.  He  did  not 
look  back.  If  he  had  done  so  he  would  have  seen  the 
Ambassador  deliberately  sling  his  fishing  paraphernalia  off 

243 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

his  shoulder,  dispose  it  on  a  flat  stone  near,  and  stride  for- 
ward. 

Mrs.  Markoe  was  seated  on  a  dilapidated  chair,  which 
stood  in  the  doorway  of  the  deserted  hut,  rocking  herself 
to  and  fro  with  a  slow  monotonous  movement  whose  meas- 
ured nodding  increased  rapidly. 

The  trinket  was  between  her  fingers.  She  fingered  it 
wistfully.  She  drew  her  handkerchief  from  her  pocket 
now.  As  the  Ambassador  approached — so  near  that  he 
would  have  had  but  to  extend  his  hand  to  reach  her  shoul- 
der— she  buried  her  face  in  it  and  shook  with  sobs. 

It  was  fully  ten  minutes  before  her  weeping  ceased.  It 
seemed  the  accumulation  of  weeks.  It  was  such  a  hope- 
less weeping,  with  so  quietly  resigned  a  despair  in  this, 
its  confession,  it  seemed  a  mood  so  familiarly  and  fre- 
quently coped  with.  It  echoed  of  the  secret  misery  of  a 
woman's  heart  which  strives  and  struggles  to  conceal  its 
agony  until  the  sluice-gates  break  way  ;  then  the  freshet 
drips  through,  gently  at  first,  then  thicker,  then  stronger, 
until  all  at  once  the  warring  flood  bursts  all  bounds  ;  a 
mighty  power  which  lacerates  and  destroys. 

When  she  finished  she  looked  up,  her  eyes  dimmed, 
her  lips  swollen,  her  hands  folding  and  unfolding  the  little 
square  of  cambric,  which,  with  its  embroidered,  lace-edged 
border,  was  such  a  mean  receptacle  for  such  a  grief  as  her 
tears  betrayed.  The  trinket  fell  to  the  ground. 

As  she  lifted  her  swollen  lids  she  saw  her  husband. 

It  might  have  been  ten  seconds,  it  might  have  been 
three  full  minutes,  before  he  spoke.  She  could  not  have 
told  afterwards  the  time  words  took  to  express  that 
wounded  look  of  his,  which  for  unmitigated  endurance  she 
never  forgot. 

"You  are  in  bitterest  trouble, — and  you  have  not  told 
me!" 

244 


DEFIANCE 

It  was  not  a  reproach  alone.  Any  other  interpretation 
he  might  have  given  to  this  stolen  interview,  any  suspicion 
voiced  in  the  tone  of  authority  some  husbands  adopt  as 
their  portion  of  the  vow  which  has  been  exchanged  be- 
tween them  and  the  woman  they  love  at  the  altar,  would 
have  been  easier  to  bear  or  defy.  It  was  the  genuine  cry 
of  a  great  soul  which  has  been  left  unconsidered  when  its 
foremost  desire  has  been  to  help. 

"You  would  not  understand,"  she  broke  out  huskily, 
Still  twisting  the  wisp-like  fragment  of  cambric  and  lace  be- 
tween her  fingers. 

1 '  Is  there  anything  in  all  the  world,  concerning  you, 
which  could  be  incomprehensible  to  me  ?' ' 

' '  Yes, ' '  she  said,  with  a  mad  uplift  in  her  over  a  secret 
longing,  which  once,  not  so  long  ago,  she  had  quenched 
for  his  sake.  ' '  There  are  things  in  us  women  which  you 
men  may  not  understand. ' '  Hers  was  now  a  fierce  clutch 
for  the  sole  ownership  of  that  spiritual  consciousness  which 
comes  to  all  womanhood  in  maturity, — that  no  one  may 
live  with  and  for  them  the  inner  life.  With  it  they  must 
wrestle  and  vanquish  unaided. 

At  any  other  time  the  isolation  of  such  an  acknowl- 
edgment would  have  disclosed  its  paramount  deficiency. 
To-day  harrowed  up,  at  war  with  herself,  she  clung  to  it  des- 
perately. 

He  said  firmly, — the  light  had  died  out  of  his  brooding 
eyes  now,  they  were  colorless,  dead,  drained  of  everything 
but  a  prayer,  which  was  fast  threatening  to  undo  him, — 

"I  am  willing  to  judge  your  trouble  mercifully  if  it  is 
put  before  me  now,  at  once,  Kate,  in  all  frankness.  I  can- 
not answer  if  you  keep  me  in  the  dark  much  longer  for 
myself." 

"A  threat!" 

He  continued  as  though  he  had  not  heard  her, — 

245 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

"Or  for  you!" 

It  was  evident  his  ultimatum  had  gone  forth. 

' '  I  have  nothing  to  say. ' ' 

"Nothing?" 

"  Next  to  nothing.  I  came  here  to-day  to  ask  Mr.  Bur- 
gess if  he  could  throw  any  new  light  upon  Jack  Conway's 
absence  ?' ' 

' '  He  knows  nothing.  I  would  not  have  kept  you  in 
the  dark  as  to  Burgess's  ignorance  had  you  told  me  of 
your  anxiety. ' ' 

"You,  in  all  probability,  heard  what  we  had  to  say," 
evasively.  ' '  I  have  had  my  walk  for  naught. ' ' 

She  had  risen.  Two  fiery,  crimson  spots  glowed  on 
either  cheek.  Her  attitude  was  the  old  defiant, — was  it  a 
brazen  one?  Her  flesh  looked — he  caught  himself  ac- 
knowledging this  with  a  desperate  feeling — more  than  ever 
divinely  transparent.  How  slender  she  had  grown  !  Her 
hand  was  almost  emaciated.  It  was  evident  she  was  har- 
boring some  misery  which  he  must,  at  all  costs,  root  up. 

"Your  interest  in  Conway  is  kind,  and  conducted  with 
your  customary  passion  for  sympathy.  What  concerns 
me,  however,  is  the  fact  that  you  choose  to  pursue  your 
researches  without  my  knowledge.  I  might  be  of  service 
to  you." 

The  Ambassador  had  seated  himself  in  the  doorway, 
perhaps  aware  that  by  this  manoeuvre  he  blocked  his 
wife's  egress.  His  strong  face,  its  profile  sharply  outlined 
against  the  landscape,  seemed  of  granite.  His  manner 
was  chiefly  composed  of  invulnerable  patience.  It  also 
evinced  resolve. 

"  I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand  why,  in  this  matter  as  in 
so  many  others,  you  do  not  allow  me  entire  liberty  to  pur- 
sue my  own  way  ?' ' 

"There  are  two  reasons,"— still  with  that  severe  profile 
246 


DEFIANCE 

set  like  a  brown  cameo  against  the  distant  horizon, — the 
words  came  through  his  handsome  unbearded  lips  with  a 
curt  emphasis  which  disclosed  they  had  already  been 
thought  out  and  decided  upon.  ' '  The  first  is  that  the 
Ambassadress  is  not  sufficiently  conversant  with  profes- 
sional methods  to  conduct  herself  with  adequate  caution. 
The  second  is  that  her  name  must  not  be  coupled  with 
Conway's  in  any  manner  whatsoever."  The  tone  was 
authoritative. 

4 '  You  leap  at  conclusions. ' ' 

Mrs.  Markoe  had  seated  herself  with  forced  calm. 

' '  Pardon  me,  I  know  of  what  I  speak.  You  are  pur- 
suing a  secret  policy  of  your  own,  which — I  beg  you  will 
not  accuse  me  of  interference — must  be  terminated  at  all 
hazards.  I  have  come  upon  it,  Kate,  unwittingly,"  turn- 
ing now,  and  looking  quietly  into  his  wife's  gradually 
paling  face,  at  her  trembling  lips,  at  her  drooping  lids, 
which  cast  so  deep  a  shadow  upon  her  delicate  cheeks. 
"I  ask  you  as  a  comrade  would  his  equal,  under  similar 
circumstances,  to  be  frank  and  open  with  me." 

There  was  no  answer.  The  Ambassador  waited  dully. 
Besides  a  slight  movement  which  might  have  revealed  an 
effort  at  control,  or  only  a  nervous  twitch  which  dislocated 
a  sigh,  the  figure  at  his  elbow  remained  motionless  and 
dumb. 

Then  the  Ambassador  rose  and  confronted  his  wife.  If 
his  face  had  been  sharply  outlined  before,  it  now  had  soft- 
ened. There  was  nothing  but  profoundest  sorrow  in  the 
steadfast  eyes,  which  sought  in  vain  to  command  this  wil- 
ful propounder  of  mysteries  to  lift  her  hidden  ones. 

' '  What  have  I  ever  done  that  you  should  disobey  me  ?' ' 
he  asked. 

Then  she  spoke.  ' '  I  have  not  disobeyed  you.  You 
ask  me  to  reveal  what  I  choose  to  consider  it  wiser  to  con- 

247 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

ceal, — a  fancy  guided  by  my  own  impulse  and  judgment. 
I  am  not  a  slave  to  be  commanded,  nor  a  servant  to  be 
forced  into  unwilling  submission.  I  am  a  woman  who 
knows  her  own  mind,  who  determines  her  own  life.  What 
is  there,  I  demand  of  you  in  turn,  so  detestable  in  my  ask- 
ing Burgess  a  few  idle  questions  ?' ' 

She  was  looking  at  him  defiantly. 

He  returned  her  gaze  without  flinching.  His  whole  soul 
was  fainting  under  the  consciousness  that  she  was  deceiving 
him. 

"I  am  not  speaking  of  Burgess,"  he  said,  steadily. 

"Of  whom,  then?     What  folly  is  this?" 

But  her  already  pale  face  had  faded  to  a  grayish  hue. 
One  hand  reached  out  blindly  to  steady  itself  against  the 
door  embrasure.  He  had  stepped  down  from  the  thresh- 
old onto  a  stone-coping  below. 

"  I  am  speaking  of  Mariotti,"  remarked  the  Ambassador. 

He  had  made  the  statement  to  try  her.  The  result  was 
so  incommensurate  with  his  intention  that  he  winced  visibly 
in  acute  pain  for  her  discomfiture,  as  she  cried  out,  pushing 
him  back,  her  hands  shaking  as  though  swept  by  an  ague, 
her  lips  like  pumice,  her  eyes  strained  and  wide. 

' '  Mariotti !     What  do  you  know  of  Mariotti  ?' ' 

"  I  know  enough  to  tremble  for  your  record  of  common 
sense,"  answered  the  Ambassador. 

His  guarded  speech  was  a  mild  echo  of  the  tumult  in  his 
veins.  Had  she  not  been  his  wife  he  would  have  laid  a 
commanding  hand  upon  her  shoulder  then  and  there  and 
forced  the  truth  from  her.  But  not  with  this  trembling, 
cherished  thing,  the  core  of  his  innermost  heart,  the  being 
whom  he  cradled  in  his  fancy,  a  pearl  of  greatest  price, 
this  shaken,  affrighted  child  who  by  this  had  turned  away 
from  him  and  had  buried  her  burning  face  in  her  hands. 

"  The  fact  of  Mariotti' s  existence  was  brought  home  to 

248 


DEFIANCE 

me  through  a  member  of  the  detective  service  who  is  in  my 
employ,"  added  Markoe,  in  a  lifeless,  monotonous  tone. 
' '  With  this  discovery  he  also  brought  me  news  of  your 
collusion  with  that  clown.  The  disclosure  was  so  at 
variance  with  my  knowledge  of  my  wife's  sweetest  dignity 
and  modesty,  I  denied  it  in  toto.  I  had  no  faith,  until 
now,  that  it  contained  even  a  semblance  of  truth.  Has 
my  confidence  been  misplaced  ?' ' 

' '  You  have  been  correctly  informed. ' ' 

The  answer  stumbled  forth  haltingly.  She  still  stood 
with  her  back  to  him,  her  face — that  exquisite,  haughty, 
incomparable  face — buried  in  two  trembling  hands. 

"  I  am  to  believe,  then  ?' '  still  dully. 

' '  Everything. ' ' 

"You  are  in  collusion,  then,  with  Mariotti?" 

"With  Mariotti." 

' '  Apropos  of  Conway  ?' ' 

There  was  a  distinct  pause. 

A  flock  of  crows  lifted  themselves  with  a  whir  out  of  a 
meadow  opposite  and  flew  across  the  blue,  cawing  of  the 
rain  whose  coming  already  haunted  the  dampening  atmos- 
phere. 

The  Ambassador  stirred  heavily.  His  forbidding  eyes 
drifted  from  the  figure  which  had  passed  him,  as  though 
striving  to  shield  itself  from  his  own  too  annihilating  glance. 
He  contemplated  stolidly  the  meagre  grass  which  fringed 
the  stone  coping  on  which  he  stood.  It  too  was  dying  of 
hunger. 

He  moved  slightly,  after  some  moments,  towards  that 
being  who  now,  to  his  keenest  chagrin,  did  not,  even  when 
he  urged  it,  confront  him  with  the  defiance  he  had  learned 
to  look  upon  with  endurance, — a  mood  which  he  would  at 
this  painful  moment  have  accepted  with  profoundest  thank- 
fulness. 

249 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

1 '  You  will  not  tell  me  of  your  secret  ?' ' 

There  was  no  answer.  Only  the  delicate  shoulders 
turned  from  him.  Only  the  refractory  slant  of  the  grace- 
ful head. 

He  sighed. 

"There  is  but  one  course  to  pursue, — a  course  I  deplore, 
my  wife, — but  one  which  under  the  circumstances  is  but 
just.  We  must  demand  of  Mariotti  what  you  refuse  to 
divulge, ' '  he  said  two  seconds  later,  relentlessly. 

There  was  utter  silence. 

Then,  like  a  whirlwind,  she  turned.  Her  cheeks  were 
scarlet.  Her  eyes,  blazing  wells  of  reproach  and  saddest 
confirmation  of  past  grief. 

' '  He  will  not  tell  you, ' '  she  protested,  bitterly.  ' '  Why  ?' ' 
in  answer  to  her  husband' s  look  ;  ' '  because  he  does  not 
know.  He  only  imagines.  If  you  force  him,  if  by  any 
means  you  strive  to  expedite  matters,  our  one  hope  is 
dead." 

Markoe  regarded  her  with  puzzled  eyes. 

' '  What  hope  ?' '  he  demanded,  instantly. 

But  she  had  checked  herself.  As  though  struggling 
against  a  recurrence  of  her  grief  she  waved  him  off. 

"I  want  to  be  alone,"  she  said.  It  was  a  moan, 
strangled,  impotent,  pitiful.  "  I  must  be  alone." 

' '  Let  us  determine  this  first, ' '  said  her  husband. 

She  turned  and  looked  at  him. 

Endurance  and  patience  were  exhausted.  With  pitiless, 
accusing  eyes  he  stood  facing  her. 

' '  I  have  been  patient,  God  knows  !  I  have  overlooked 
your  whims,  your  protests,  your  equivocations,  your  inex- 
plicable absences.  My  forbearance  is  at  an  end.  Either 
you  tell  me  of  this  miserable  secret — secret,  forsooth  !" 
furiously,  with  a  cold,  steel-like  gleam  in  his  eyes — "or  I 
will  seek  out  Mariotti  and  unearth  it." 

250 


DEFIANCE 

"  Seek  him,  then,"  she  cried  almost  on  the  instant,  as 
though  her  strength  were  spent,  her  patience  too  exhausted. 
"  Seek  him,  then,  and  on  your  head  be  the  result." 

"Kate!" 

"Oh,  I  am  tired,"  she  sobbed,  "weary,  saddened 
through  and  through.  You  might  have  trusted  me. ' ' 

"TrutedjwK/" 

' '  You  might  have  known  I  would  bring  it  right  if  I 
could, — if  I  could." 

"My  wife!" 

But  she  would  not  see  his  pleading  eyes  nor  heed  his 
arms,  which  sought  to  hold  her  as  she  pushed  past  him  on 
the  step. 

' '  Yes,  your  wife, ' '  she  said.  ' '  Misunderstood,  com- 
manded, threatened.  I,  in  return,  defy  you  !" 

She  had  turned  once  more.  She  flung  her  head  back 
against  the  door-moulding.  One  foot  had  extended  to  the 
grassy  plot  against  the  coping. 

Her  hand  held  the  knob  on  which  it  fastened  to  throw 
the  door  wider  that  she  might  pass  out. 

The  two  had  changed  places  unconsciously  in  the  in- 
creasing turmoil  of  their  present  interview. 

' '  I  may,  then,  attack  Mariotti  ?' ' 

He  was  looking  at  her  strangely,  fearfully,  a  joy-gleam 
welling  up  in  his  strange  eyes,  a  wild  expression  of  relief 
breaking  through  his  sternly  controlled  features. 

' '  Why  not  ?' '  she  threw  back  over  her  shoulder  as  she 
went  out,  stepping  elastically  across  the  long,  uneven 
grass. 

He  watched  her  as  she  sped  across  the  meadow,  and 
then  turned  off  short  into  a  little  path  which  skirted  the 
edge  of  the  dancing  stream  ;  a  path  which  was  made  up 
of  easy  stages  towards  the  chateau  grounds. 

"Mariotti,"  he  repeated  aloud  then,  gropingly.  But 
251 


A  NEW  RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

the  name  conveyed  in  a  haunting  mysterious  fashion 
another  personality  to  him, — a  young  figure  with  Spanish 
eyes,  of  speech  vivid  and  picturesque,  two  vertical  lines 
between  a  pair  of  brows,  lines  which  held  the  promise  of 
concentrative  force. 

An  hour  later,  when  they  met  at  the  mid-day  breakfast, 
at  which  Lamballe  outdid  himself  in  brilliant  sallies,  and 
Condorcet,  who  had  come  up  from  town  with  his  host, 
delighted  them  all  by  reciting  a  verse  which  the  Academy 
was  acclaiming  as  the  acme  of  form,  the  Ambassador,  out 
of  a  tenderness  which  had  remained  unshaken  and  a  trust 
which  was  absolute,  determined  to  await  Lubin'  s  disclosure 
before  he  carried  out  his  threatened  scheme.  His  wife's 
pride  was  dearer  to  him  than  his  own  peace. 

* '  It  seems  to  me, ' '  said  Lamballe  to  him  that  afternoon, — 
they  were  going  for  a  drive ;  they  were  awaiting  Mrs.  Con- 
way  and  Mrs.  Markoe  on  the  terrace,  drawing  on  their 
gloves, — "  I  fancy  I  have  seen  that  crest  somewhere  be- 
fore." *  He  was  looking  with  puzzled  intentness  at  a  seal 
which  swung  from  Markoe' s  watch-chain, — an  intaglio  set 
in  dull  gold,  the  inscription,  an  iron  hand  in  a  velvet  glove. 
"  It  is  oddly  familiar  to  me. ' ' 

The  Ambassador  glanced  down.  His  neutral  counte- 
nance, which  had  aged  perceptibly  during  the  past  three 
months,  broke  up. 

"It's  Conway's  crest,"  he  said  ;  "poor  boy  !" 


252 


ON  THE  TRAIL 
CHAPTER  XXXII 

ON   THE   TRAIL 

FOUR  days  later,  in  the  Ambassador's  private  office, 
Markoe  and  Lamballe  were  discussing  fresh  methods  of 
procedure,  when  Lubin  was  announced. 

The  pompous  little  man  entered  with  a  smile  of  barely 
dissimulated  satisfaction,  coupled  with  an  apprehensive 
manner  which  demonstrated  that  secretly  he  acknowledged 
his  errand  to  comprehend  a  ticklish  enigma.  Recently  his 
pursuit  had  been  obstructed  by  the  conviction  that  his  em- 
ployer repudiated  the  maxim  that  all  is  fish  that  comes  to 
the  detective's  net.  This  fundamental  principle,  which 
comprised  foremost  the  Ambassadress's  collusion  with 
Mariotti,  had  been  staggered  by  Markoe' s  unexpected  atti- 
tude. The  Ambassador's  assurance  that  he  approved  of 
Mrs.  Markoe' s  quixotic  support  of  a  boulevard  celebrity, 
sympathizing  with  her  passion  for  perpetrating  philan- 
thropy even  to  the  extent  of  administering  it  where  it 
was  undeserved,  was  difficult  to  amalgamate  with  Lubin' s 
knowledge  of  the  United  States  representative's  habitual 
phlegm. 

Hitherto  not  a  screw  had  been  permitted  to  remain 
loosely  fastened  in  the  structure  which,  obedient  to  every 
law  of  skilful  mechanism,  had  been  built  up  between  the 
detective  private  and  public  force,  subsequent  and  pre- 
ceding the  discriminating  governorship  of  Lamballe,  and 
Markoe.  The  affair  had  been  conducted  with  accuracy,  a 
diligence,  a  pertinacity  which  had  even  edified  Lubin  and 
his  colleagues. 

Lubin  reserved  his  private  opinion  that  his  employer 

2S3 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

was  as  perplexed  as  himself  at  the  unattended  shift  of 
events,  and  shielded  his  wife  by  throwing  away  his  record 
of  thoroughness, — a  sop  to  the  Cerberus  of  wounded  pro- 
fessional vanity  which  his  action  unleashed.  The  detective 
conducted  his  crippled  campaign  with  the  feeling  of  a  crab 
which,  albeit  set  crawling  the  wrong  way,  still  is  positive 
that  the  sea  cannot  be  far  off. 

Upon  the  Ambassador's  guarded  expression  of  inquiry, 
Lubin  forthwith  continued  his  peroration  at  the  point  where, 
a  week  before,  he  had  been  so  peremptorily  checked. 

"  Mariotti's  means  of  livelihood,"  he  began,  "are  appar- 
ently inexhaustible.  Soit!  We  determined  that  feature  con- 
tained a  mine  which  we  would  work  later.  Immediately 
upon  obtaining  your  permission,  I  set  to  work  to  fathom  his 
private  life.  He  lives  in  a  ramshackle  building  in  the  rue 
Bon  Faubourg,  not  far  from  his  theatre.  The  neighborhood 
is  squalid,  and  abounds  in  those  stenches  which  the  poor 
accept  as  their  portion.  I  learned  from  the  inhabitants  of 
the  same  tenement  he  occupied  that  the  clown  rents  two 
rooms,  which  are  barred  off  with  an  iron,  cage-like  frame- 
work, which  he  ordered  constructed  when  hiring  his  living 
place  ;  the  windows  are  barred,  also,  with  iron  rods.  I 
sought  to  obtain  an  entrance  to  his  apartment,  first  as  a 
tenant  who  wished  to  well  examine  the  building  before  per- 
mitting himself  to  rent  lodgings  in  it,  and,  second,  as  a  sani- 
tary inspector.  In  vain.  Mariotti's  two  rooms  are  his 
castle  :  his  actual  whereabouts  as  slippery  as  his  profession. 
Either  he  closely  guards  some  one  or  something  mysterious 
in  that  space  ;  or  he  shields  his  own  interests  with  the  fury 
of  a  starving  dog.  He  is  vastly  unpopular  with  the  other 
inmates  because  of  a  dull,  indescribable  noise  within  his 
walls  which  the  police  decline  to  investigate  ;  over  this 
miscarriage  of  justice  the  neighborhood  waxes  eloquent 
and  uproariously  indignant  upon  every  occasion  proffered. 

254 


ON  THE  TRAIL 

The  supposition  is  that  Mariotti  does  not  live  alone  ;  but 
whether  his  companion  is  an  animal  or  a  human  being  is  an 
open  question.  I  finally  succeeded  in  surprising  a  portion 
of  his  secret." 

Lubin  checked  himself  sharply,  and  asked  Markoe  if  he 
would  kindly  provide  a  stenographer  to  take  down  his 
affidavit  ? 

The  Ambassador  complied.  In  ten  minutes  the  detec- 
tive's narrative  was  copied  by  a  lightning  calculator  of 
hieroglyphics,  who  thus  nonchalantly  set  the  seal  on 
Mariotti' s  fate  with  a  disinterestedness  which  was  above 
praise. 

' '  I  spent  two  days  shadowing  the  quarter,  slipping  from 
out  doors  into  the  tenement,  and  back  again.  At  twi- 
light the  tenants  swarmed  into  the  streets  for  air  and 
carousing.  At  dawn  they  slept,  their  doors  and  windows 
swung  wide.  I  attired  myself  in  the  trousers  and  blouse 
of  a  working-man,  patched,  spotted,  unobtrusive.  I  would 
creep  towards  that  barred  door  of  Mariotti' s  every  time  I 
discovered  the  opportunity  to  listen  with  my  ear  to  the 
key-hole.  I  heard  nothing.  I  had  almost  concluded  that 
the  inexplicable  noise  might  be  an  effervescence  of  the 
neighborhood's  absinthe-soaked  intellect,  when  I  learned 
that  his  fellow- tenants  had  not  imagined  it.  It  was  only 
too  true.  I  say  I  spent  a  good  portion  of  my  time  with 
my  ear  at  the  key-hole,  expectant  of  being  annihilated 
momentarily  if  Mariotti  should  come  upon  me  from  the 
street.  He  is  a  desperate  rascal,  and  doubtless  applies 
desperate  remedies.  The  quarter  stinks  of  crime  and 
excess.  I  dogged  his  footsteps  more  than  once,  while 
studying  his  meanderings  attentively.  They  consisted  of 
his  sneakingly  crawling  to  and  from  the  theatre  in  time  for 
the  performances, — one  in  the  afternoon,  the  other  in  the 
evening.  At  times  he  remained  at  the  theatre  day  and 

255 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

night.  At  others,  two  or  three  times  a  day,  he  would 
swerve  around  the  corner  on  a  dog-trot,  with  foam  at  the 
corners  of  his  mouth,  like  a  hound  with  a  fever  consuming 
his  inside.  Day  before  yesterday  I  shadowed  him  from 
the  street  up  the  staircase.  The  hall-way  is  a  black  laby- 
rinth of  tortuous  passages  charged  with  receptacles  and 
boxes  ;  the  floor  gray  with  dirt  and  refuse  ;  the  stench 
abominable.  It  is  almost  pitch  dark  as  one  enters.  The 
hallways,  mostly  closed,  are  but  means  of  egress  from  the 
miserable  rooms  to  the  street.  I  feared  each  moment  the 
clown  would  alter  his  intention ;  but  he  was  so  intent  upon 
the  uppermost  thought  in  his  mind  that  he  neglected  to 
take  his  customary  precaution  to  shut  the  street  door.  I 
crept  through  behind  him.  What  was  my  surprise  when 
he  reached  the  top, — he  was  five  floors  up,  I  following  so 
closely  upon  his  felt-slippered  heels  that  he  might  have 
heard  my  breathing, — to  see  him,  instead  of  entering  the  two 
rooms  which  belonged  to  him,  lay  his  ear  to  the  key-hole, 
his  own  key-hole,  exactly  as  I  had  done  a  day  before,  and 
listen,  breathlessly.  His  face,  upon  which  the  light  from  a 
neighboring  open  door  shone  slantwise,  was  livid.  Just  now 
there  came  to  our  strained  ears  a  moan,  a  shuddering,  pite- 
ous wail,  which  seemed  to  me  the  ungoverned  expression  of 
some  drugged  animal ;  a  sort  of  strangled,  feeble  cry,  which 
sounded  expectant  of  a  beating  down,  a  cuff,  or  a  kick.  It 
was  extraordinary  the  effect  that  sound  had  upon  Mariotti ! 
Instead  of  shuddering  mentally  and  physically  as  I  was  do- 
ing, hoping  passionately  that  it  would  never  be  my  lot  again 
to  surprise  so  acute  an  accent  of  untold  misery,  he  drew  him- 
self up  with  a  sigh  of  relief  and  stood  rigid.  The  blood, 
which  surged  up  slowly,  put  out  the  greenish  pallor  of  his 
face.  He  was  nibbling  his  finger-nails  reflectively.  As  he 
stood  thus  the  sound  welled  up  louder  ;  a  subdued,  sombre 
note,  a  moaning  that  was  almost  human.  The  effect  upon 

256      « 


ON  THE  TRAIL 

Mariotti  was  this  time  more  curious  than  the  last.  He 
laughed  !  Just  a  parting  of  his  cracked  lips,  and  a  silent 
convulsion  that  shook  his  whole  frame.  He  lifted  his  fist 
and  shook  it  at  the  door  triumphantly,  or  rather  at  the 
grating, — an  iron  one  with  a  lock  and  key-hole.  I  saw  him 
creep  down  into  the  street.  I  followed  him.  It  was  high 
noon.  Already  a  crowd  was  assembling  on  the  sidewalk 
outside  the  theatre.  The  doors  were  to  open  at  half-past 
one  o'clock." 

Lamballe  had  been  listening  intently,  with  an  expression 
of  growing  wonder  and  astonishment. 

"Is  he  alluding  to  my  erstwhile  pet  harlequin,  the  wily 
speculator  in  emotions,  Mariotti?"  he  interrupted  here, 
turning  towards  Markoe. 

The  Ambassador  nodded. 

' '  Tiens, ' '  vouchsafed  Lamballe.  ' '  They  are,  then,  one 
and  the  same  ?  The  rascal  is  enjoying  a  period  of  remark- 
able prosperity,  I  read." 

"Prosperity,"  confirmed  Lubin,  ironically.  "In  my 
opinion,  for  rascality,  pressed  down  and  running  over, 
recommend  me  Mariotti.  The  clown  has  attained  a  per- 
fection in  villany  which  is  only  matched  by  the  variegated 
vices  he  steals  from  others  with  which  to  adorn  himself." 

1 '  Mariotti, ' '  mused  Lamballe  aloud,  as  though  the 
name  called  up  memories  charged  with  merriment  not  un- 
mixed with  awe ;  he  flung  his  head  back  against  the 
fauteuil  in  which  he  reclined  ;  he  brought  the  forefingers 
of  his  long,  blue-veined  hands  together  into  a  point  ;  he 
dreamily  contemplated  a  shadow  which  swelled  and  dimin- 
ished against  the  ceiling, — the  shadow  of  a  swinging  blind 
with  shuttered  bars  of  light.  "A  scoundrel  who  for  in- 
ventiveness would  outwit  the  devil  himself.  In  our  last 
mutual  folly  his  avarice  predominated  to  such  an  extent 
that  I  have  since  entirely  renounced  the  pleasure  of  listen- 
17  257 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

ing  to  his  double-edged  translation  of  men  and  things. 
Know  him  ?  Why,  he  has  a  veritable  flair  for  intrigue. 
'Twas  he  who  let  me  in  for  that  affair  at  the  Duchesse's." 

"What  affair  ?"     The  voice  was  the  Ambassador's. 

Lamballe  glanced  at  him  in  surprise. 

"It  is  not  possible,"  he  ejaculated,  "  that  your  praise- 
worthy devotion  to  official  duties  precluded  you  from  hear- 
ing of  the  main  event  of  the  Duchesse  de  Launoy's  ball 
last  June,  the  evening  of  the  tenth  ?' ' 

"I  did  not  attend  it." 

In  a  concise,  brilliant  fashion,  Lamballe  pictured  the 
event. 

"  We  left  no  portion  of  our  plan  unstudied,"  he  asserted. 
"It  never  occurred  to  me,  until  too  late,  that  Mariotti's 
vanity  might  get  the  better  of  his  ingenuity.  We  had 
agreed  that  he  should  go  in  at  twelve  o'clock  to  exercise 
all  his  talent  performing  odd  pranks  ;  I  was  to  arrive  later, 
supposedly  Mariotti  himself, — after  he  had  left,  with  the 
maskers  reaching  out  vainly  for  him.  The  intrigue  was 
double-sided  with  opportunity.  Imagine  my  chagrin  when, 
upon  my  appearance  at  the  foot  of  the  grand  staircase,  my 
eyes — it  seemed  almost  an  optical  delusion — encompassed 
the  fact  of  my  double  audaciously  awaiting  me  at  the  land- 
ing above  !  I  realized  then  and  there  that  the  intrigue  had 
lost  its  savor.  It  was  being  played  for  the  clown,  not  for 
me.  Now  that  Mariotti's  vanity  had  predominated,  my 
subterfuge  was  devoid  of  its  principal  ingredient, — the 
.enigma  was  solved  then  and  there,  and  our  plot  revealed. 
I  managed  to  hide  my  chagrin  in  the  Duchesse's  presence  ; 
but  the  next  morning  I  confronted  the  rascal  who  had  thus 
defied  me.  I  found  Mariotti  in  a  state  bordering  on  frenzy. 
He  swore  that  the  night  in  question  he  had  explicitly 
obeyed  orders.  That  he  quitted  the  Duchesse's  at  mid- 
night, after  having  reduced  the  throng  to  crying  for  him 

258 


ON  THfi  TRAIL 

like  a  child  for  the  moon.  He  claimed  that  the  other 
Mariotti  was  an  unknown  person,  a  rival,  perhaps,  who  had 
sought  to  undermine  my  confidence  in  this  one  of  my 
well-recognized  proteges.  Of  course,  the  fellow  lied." 

' '  He  has  as  many  lives  as  a  cat,  and  has  mastered  as 
many  falsehoods  as  would  equip  Cupid's  quiver,"  swore 
Lubin,  violently.  "  His  last  act  would  be  to  tell  the  truth, 
but  only  if  some  nefarious  project  might  be  advanced  by  it." 

"He  broke  his  contract,"  continued  Lamballe,  con- 
temptuously, ' '  after  having  obtained  from  me  an  exorbitant 
sum  which  he  swore  was  the  price  of  his  silence.  He 
ordered  a  copy  of  his  own  costume  made  for  me,  and  de- 
manded a  fabulous  sum  for  his  services  in  my  behalf, — 
which  I  paid  without  demurring.  The  principal  feature  of 
the  evening  fell  flat  because  of  his  duplicity.  He  lost  my 
patronage.  He  will  find  it  difficult  to  replace  it.  I  had 
made  a  study  of  that  clown.  I  consider  him  an  honest 
avower  of  the  iniquity  most  men  elect  to  deny.  I  have 
had  many  a  laugh  over  his  frank  expression  of  ungodliness. 
Bland  confession  of  wickedness  comes  to  him  as  naturally 
as  the  blush  to  a  maiden's  cheek.  It  never  occurred  to 
him  to  lie,  as  regarded  his  admiration  of  his  rank  unworth. 
It  was  a  revelation.  I  cannot  picture  him  prosperous. 
He  stole  with  unadulterated  cunning,  but  he  always  dis- 
closed his  hand.  He  abhorred  anything  systematic  ;  even 
vice.  He  is  too  erratic  to  be  anything  but  irresponsible." 

The  Ambassador  had  been  an  absorbed  listener  to  Lam- 
balle's  black  and  white  sketch,  which  was  delivered  crisply, 
and  in  his  customary  trenchant  style.  Mariotti  was  slowly 
attaining  the  dignity  of  a  dashing  operator  in  his  calcula- 
tion. Secretly  he  nurtured  a  dread  which  was  rolling  up 
thicker  and  faster  hourly.  What  possible  contingency  had 
set  agog  so  illicit  a  communion  as  the  trapeze  performer's 
and  his  wife's? 

259 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

As  he  rolled  this  inquiry  under  his  mental  palate,  he 
looked  up,  and  caught  the  reflection  of  a  curious  gleam  in 
Lubin'  s  narrow,  cunning  eyes.  He  became  furiously  aware 
that  the  detective  was  making  the  same  mental  calculation 
as  himself. 

' '  We  are  waiting  for  a  new  chapter  in  your  story, 
Lubin, ' '  he  remarked  with  unction.  ' '  Your  next  move, 
no  doubt,  will  be  to  effect  an  entrance  into  that  den  of 
iniquity  which  you  surprised  day  before  yesterday?" 
There  was  an  underlying  irony  in  his  tone.  The  Latin 
love  of  a  dramatic  situation  had  been  evident  to  him  all 
through  this  interview.  He  was  prepared  to  subtract  from 
it  the  odor  of  villany  and  metaphor,  and,  when  alone, 
straighten  the  main  plan  into  proportion.  Facts  were 
what  he  wanted  ;  not  sensationalism. 

Lubin  had  been  standing,  leaning  most  of  his  weight 
heavily  on  one  foot.  He  now  changed  his  attitude,  as 
though  preparing  to  expostulate.  He  regarded  his  inter- 
locutor with  a  contemplative  air,  which  seemed  foreign  to 
his  manner  of  pompous  authority. 

' '  I  have  made  that  move, ' '  he  finally  managed  to 
ejaculate  with  difficulty.  He  evidently  dreaded  arousing 
his  employer's  cool  refutal  of  his  own  paramount  convic- 
tion. His  eyelids  fell.  As  they  did  so,  and  his  lips 
moved,  preparatory  to  continuing,  there  carne  a  galvanic 
shock  over  his  body,  which  vanished  as  suddenly,  and  left 
him  standing  levelly  on  his  two  feet,  with  glittering  orbs 
confronting  the  Ambassador.  The  shock  had  come  as 
Lubin' s  eyes  fell  on  Conway's  seal,  which  swung  to  and 
fro  upon  the  Ambassador's  watch-chain  as  he  had  turned 
to  urge  the  detective  to  pursue  his  narrative. 

The  Ambassador's  eyes  followed  Lubin' s  after  that  first 
involuntary  start.  "  What  did  you  discover?"  he  inquired, 
blandly.  He  lifted  the  trinket  idly  between  his  thumb  and 

260 


CLOSING  IN 

forefinger  and  deliberately  fondled  it,  as  he  mentally  regis- 
tered the  detective's  visible  emotion. 

"That  seal!"  cried  Lubin,  sharply,  spontaneously. 
'  '  Dieu  des  Dieux,  monsieur  1'  Ambassadeur,  d'  ou  1'  avez- 
vous  obtenu  ?'  ' 

"It's  Conway's.     How  does  that  concern  you?" 

The  detective  for  one  brief  instant  seemed  to  lose  his 
breath.  His  countenance  recorded  five  changes  in  a  second. 
Apprehension,  consternation,  confusion,  relief,  and,  finally, 
determination. 

"  If  that  seal  is  Monsieur  Conway's  for  sure,  sir,  there's 
no  time  to  be  lost,  '  '  he  finally  managed  to  let  forth  in  a 
hoarse  whisper. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

CLOSING   IN 

"WHAT  do  you  mean?" 

'  '  Soyez  raisonnable,  prof  esseur,  '  '  interpolated  Lamballe, 
ironically. 

Both  he  and  the  Ambassador  had  risen  and  approached 
the  little  detective  with  blanched  faces. 

"I  won't  take  long,  sir,"  vouchsafed  Lubin,  after  a 
pause,  in  which  he  had  fallen  heavily  into  a  chair  and  asked 
for  a  glass  of  water.  The  three  had  changed  places.  He 
was  master  now  ;  the  two  distinguished  parties,  to  the  com- 
manding attitude  he  had  assumed,  his  willing  slaves.  The 
detective's  limbs  were  trembling  under  him.  His  smug 
countenance  gradually,  as  his  parched  lips  let  forth  their 
story,  acquired  a  look  of  pity  and  vengeance  combined 
which  was  almost  ludicrous. 

"  Those  dumb  cries  haunted  me  for  one  whole  night,  —  a 
261 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

night  in  which  my  spirit  seemed  floating  in  a  vortex  of 
beating,  and  bleating  piteous  appeals  for  help.  I  was  in 
a  place  made  up  of  a  space  in  which  humans  and  animals 
were  warring  pitilessly  with  one  another.  I  could  hear  the 
dull  sickening  thud  of  the  falling  blows  ;  the  strangled 
whinings  of  the  victims  of  brute  cruelty.  I  thought  I  had 
gone  mad  when  I  awoke,  and  the  thing  still  pervaded  my 
cringing  thoughts.  I  made  for  Mariotti's  dingy  quarters 
like  a  mouse  for  its  hole.  I  had  determined  to  unearth 
that  mystery,  if  I  died  in  the  attempt.  The  neighborhood 
was  deserted  that  day,  happily.  I  crawled  up  the  stairs, 
and  through  the  skylight  on  to  the  roof  unmolested.  I 
had  made  up  my  mind  to  enter  through  the  window.  I 
entered,  squeezing  my  body  through  the  apertures,  of 
which  there  were  two,  set  wide  apart.  The  stench  in  the 
room  was  foul, — so  foul  I  caught  my  breath. 

"  On  the  bed  there  was  a  pile  of  dirty  sheets,  which  at 
first  I  thought  served  to  cover  the  squalid  frame.  But 
now,  as  I  looked  steadily,  it  disclosed  the  outlines  of  a 
human  form.  Sickeningly  I  became  conscious  that  I  was 
contemplating  the  body  of  a  man.  The  form  was  rigid  ; 
the  eyes  were  half  open." 

Lubin  checked  himself,  and  looked  straight  at  the  Am- 
bassador. Markoe  swallowed  something  which  obstructed 
his  breathing  apparatus,  and  made  a  sign  for  him  to  con- 
tinue. His  features  were  gradually  becoming  impregnated 
with  the  same  stamp  of  fought-against  conviction  which 
the  detective's  countenance  so  frankly  revealed. 

Lamballe  burst  forth  in  a  hushed,  broken  voice,  ' '  Mais 
de"p£chez  done,  mon  ami.  Qu' est-ce  que  vous  voulez  dire?' ' 

' '  The  figure  as  I  crept  up  to  it  was  so  emaciated  ;  a 
mass  of  skin  and  bone  ;  dead,  I  thought.  Oh,  the  poor, 
helpless  hands  and  the  sunken  cheeks  and  the  unkempt 
hair!  It  lay  quite  still. " 

262 


CLOSING  IN 

There  was  a  dull  silence.  Lubin's  voice,  breaking 
through  it  a  moment  later,  made  them  all  start. 

' '  I  moved  away,  after  looking  about  me  fearfully  and 
taking  note  of  every  feature  of  the  room.  Before  the  door 
stood  a  heavy  chest  of  drawers.  Mariotti  was  evidently 
accustomed  to  making  his  egress  through  the  door  of  an 
adjoining  room.  If  the  body  on  the  bed  were  his  victim, 
the  creature  who  gave  vent  to  those  horrible  dumb  cries, 
the  wall  evidently  dulled  them  to  that  tenement's  occu- 
pants, but  not  to  the  people  in  the  neighboring  house.  .  .  . 
There  is  a  feature  of  my  story  which  I  considered  of  small 
importance  up  to  a  few  moments  since,  but  which  I  now 
propose  to  relate." 

Lamballe  stood  behind  the  Ambassador  by  this  time,  his 
eyes  intently  fastened  on  his  sternly-controlled  face.  His 
own  was  unreadable  ;  but  as  the  story  unfolded,  one  of  his 
fine,  blue-veined  hands  crept  almost  involuntarily  from  the 
back  of  the  Ambassador's  fauteuil  to  his  shoulder  and  rested 
there.  It  almost  seemed  as  if  he  wished  to  forestall  press- 
ing him  back  into  his  seat  did  he  make  too  impetuous  a 
move  towards  rising. 

"As  I  had  stood  skulking  almost  in  Mariotti' s  pocket, 
the  day  I  had  surprised  him  listening  and  grinning  over  his 
victim's  moans,  his  hand,  an  olive-colored  thing,  the  hand  of 
an  artist  rather  than  that  of  a  workman,  but  still  with  broken 
finger-nails  and  callous  spots  along  the  palms,  stretched 
out  to  steady  him  as  he  leaned  forward  and  grasped  the 
railing.  I  was  crouched  down  so  near  it,  to  keep  out  of 
his  sight,  that  I  could  have  bitten  it.  On  the  little  finger 
of  that  hand  was  a  ring,  an  intaglio  set  in  dullest  gold. 
The  insignia  was  the  same  as  you  carry  there,  monsieur,  on 
your  watch-chain  ;  an  iron  hand  in  a  velvet  glove." 

Lamballe  started  forward.  ' '  That  is  where  I  have  seen 
it,"  he  cried,  excitedly  ;  "  on  Mariotti  !" 

263 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

The  three  stood  regarding  one  another  in  dismay,  not 
unmixed  with  a  slowly  growing  horror. 

' '  It  must  have  been  with  Mariotti  all  the  time  to  have 
offered  us  a  complete  unravelling  of  this  mystery.  On  his 
head  be  the  result, ' '  vouchsafed  Lamballe,  after  about  two 
minutes  had  passed,  in  which  they  all  read  the  possible 
solution  to  Conway's  disappearance,  shudderingly. 

Markoe  steadied  one  palm  against  the  clawed  arm  of  his 
fauteuil  until  the  white  skin  looked  like  a  drum-head  across 
its  frame. 

"  Continue,"  he  said,  dully.  He  held  the  seal  again  be- 
tween his  fingers,  this  time  tenderly.  He  heard  a  glad, 
eager  young  voice  saying, — 

"Stephen,  you  have  offered  me  the  biggest  thing  you 
know  of.  I  mean  to  obey  your  orders  as  grandly  as  the 
strength  may  be  given  me.  It  is  the  opportunity  of  my 
life  !' '  How  could  he  reconcile  this  version  of  his  ardent 
young  apostle  with  his  wife's  defiance,  and  her  secret  col- 
lusion with  Mariotti  ?  The  more  he  thought,  the  stronger 
was  his  sense  of  dignity  outraged. 

"Before  I  left  the  room,"  continued  Lubin,  fearfully, 
' '  I  tiptoed  once  more  towards  the  figure  on  the  bed.  Its 
eyes,  filmed  like  the  eyes  of  a  dead  fish,  were  half  open  ; 
the  lids  were  arrested  by  the  action  of  some  powerful  drug. 
I  bent  and  listened  to  his  heart.  It  was  beating  faintly. 
The  hair  was  black,  so  were  the  eyes.  The  limbs  were 
clad  in  a  pair  of  muddy  boots  ;  the  mud  looked  half  a 
year  old.  I  had  no  clue  to  his  identity ;  but  I  was  none 
the  less  convinced  that  here  was  foul  play.  Now,  knowing 
what  I  know,"  with  deadly  import,  "  there  is  but  one  con- 
clusion to  draw.  Mariotti' s  dupe,  the  creature  who  wails 
night  and  day,  the  victim  of  the  clown's  diabolical  treat- 
ment, is  none  other  than " 

"Than?" 

264 


CLOSING  IN 

' '  The  man  we  seek.     Conway. ' ' 

The  Ambassador's  hand  relaxed  its  hold  of  the  arm  of 
his  fauteuil.  His  lids  lifted.  From  under  them  the  steel 
orbs  looked  out  neutrally.  Lamballe,  after  a  loud  ejacula- 
tion, turned  his  back  and  walked  towards  the  window. 
The  stenographer's  pen  flew  across  the  page  before  him 
with  a  scraping,  monotonous  sound  which  set  all  their 
nerves  on  edge. 

' '  And  we  sit  here  like  cowards  while  even  now  that 
scoundrel  may  be  brutalizing  his  victim  with  blows,  or 
even  worse,"  finally  broke  out  the  Ambassador's  voice, 
vibrantly. 

' '  Doucement,  doucement, ' '  protested  Lubin.  "It  is 
only  by  this  that  we  have  recognized  the  part  we  must 
play.  In  France  the  villain  could  turn  on  us,  and  clap  us 
into  prison,  if  by  one  slip  we  proved  ourselves  his  slaves 
instead  of  his  masters.  We  must  arrest  him  for  the  con- 
fiscation of  stolen  goods.  Thus  the  affair  will  be  kept 
within  bounds.  Monsieur  1'Ambassadeur — should  we 
loudly  accuse — might  bring  about  him  that  very  harvest  of 
scandal  which  all  along  he  has  cautioned  me  to  avoid. 
Once  Mariotti  is  in  our  hands,  we  will  turn  on  the  screws. 
Not  before." 

Markoe  all  at  once  became  curiously  conscious  of  a  novel 
sensation.  He  felt  as  though  he  were  stretched  on  a  rack, 
being  steadily  dismembered.  He  made  a  sign  to  his  secre- 
tary. He  rose  and  left  the  room.  Then  he  turned  towards 
Lamballe  with  his  familiar  inscrutable  expression. 

His  face  was  a  trifle  paler  than  usual,  which,  considering 
that  in  the  past  few  seconds  he  had  determined  to  give  rein 
to  a  search  which  might  forever  defeat  his  soul's  happiness, 
was  not  unnatural. 

Lubin  grinned  expectantly.  ' '  Have  I  your  permission 
to  command  two  of  our  picked  officers  in  citizen's  clothes  ?" 

265 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

he  said,  addressing  Lamballe.  '  '  We  might  find  it  feasible 
to  call  at  Mariotti's  house  after  we  have  arrested  him,  pour 
prendre  une  tasse  de  the"  !" 

Lamballe  acquiesced. 

"There  is  no  time  to  be  lost,"  muttered  Lubin,  ear- 
nestly, as  he  lifted  his  hat  to  go,  after  inclining  profoundly. 
"  If  that  poor  creature  in  the  bed  is  alive  to-day,  it  is  be- 
cause Providence  is  on  our  side  instead  of  Mariotti's  !" 

Making  a  reverent  gesture,  as  he  inserted  this  wedge, 
with  an  air  of  profoundest  religious  fervor,  —  a  gesture  which 
disclosed  that  peculiar  hirsute  arrangement,  with  its  urchin 
profile  and  its  saint-like  back,  in  Lubin'  s  salute  to  a  Higher 
Power,  —  the  brave  little  man  triumphantly  withdrew. 

Events  after  all  were  moving  his  way,  and  the  screw  was 
turning  in  the  Ambassador's  superficial  doctrine. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV 

AT   THE   THEATRE    MARIOTTI 

Two  men  applied  for  a  loge,  situated  as  closely  as  pos- 
sible to  the  foot-lights,  at  the  ticket-office  of  a  flourishing 
theatre,  rejoicing  under  the  management  of  a  famous  star, 
at  two  o'clock  the  same  afternoon.  Obtaining  this,  they 
entered  quietly,  keeping  in  the  back  of  the  loge,  and  be- 
came masters  of  the  situation.  Their  seats  overlooked 
every  particular  of  the  clown's  make-up,  his  attitudes,  and 
his  facial  contortions.  One  of  them  was  a  beardless,  im- 
perturbable looking  individual,  attired  in  a  pepper-and-salt 
business  suit.  The  other  was  a  Parisian  of  distinction. 
The  two  simultaneously  fastened  their  attention  upon 
Mariotti. 

266 


AT  THE  THEATRE  MARIOTTI 

The  clown  was  in  his  element.  Like  a  fish  to  water,  he 
took  to  the  sensation  of  warm  appreciation  which  mounted 
like  incense  towards  his  inflated  soul.  A  war-horse  snif- 
fing gunpowder  might  have  no  less  strained  every  muscle 
towards  responding  to  the  tightened  bit  than  did  this 
frankly  ardent  child  of  nature  under  the  delighted  eyes 
and  smiles  of  his  worshippers.  Hitherto  comedy  had  been 
his  sphere,  but  a  singular  coincidence  to-day  brought 
tragedy  in  his  way,  and  he  rose  to  it  with  the  facile  impu- 
dence of  a  many-sided  soul  which  seeks,  in  Divine  law  as 
well  as  human,  gratuitous  sustenance. 

A  woman  was  seated  in  a  conspicuous  seat  in  the  second 
tier,  with  a  wide,  congested  face  surmounting  a  huge  rolling 
body.  Mere  Richard  was  a  familiar  figure  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. She  was  the  proprietress  of  a  fish-stand  on  the  boule- 
vard exterieur.  Her  libations  had  been  so  manifold  that  the 
rich  blood  of  her  youth  had  mulled  into  a  purplish  decla- 
ration of  ignoble  abuse. 

The  day  was  warm,  the  atmosphere  vitiated.  Mere 
Richard  had  breakfasted  with  kindred  souls.  She  was 
topping  off  her  repast  with  a  visit  to  her  favorite  theatre, 
to  witness  the  triumphs  of  her  old  favorite,  Mariotti.  Her 
loud  guffaws,  in  response  to  the  clown's  side-splitting  sal- 
lies, had  turned  the  highly  elated  attention  of  the  alert 
audience  in  her  direction  more  than  once.  She  seemed 
radiantly  alive  to  the  proud  honor  of  knowing  a  man  who 
had  brought  the  world  to  his  feet.  Her  eyes  were  blood- 
shot ;  her  ragged,  unkempt  hair  was  dishevelled.  She 
leaned  heavily  forward.  Between  her  gasps  of  approval 
and  her  extravagant  bursts  of  applause,  she  could  be  heard 
all  over  the  lower  part  of  the  house,  breathing  stertorously. 

Mariotti  had  been  exhibiting  a  fantastic  version  of  gayety. 
Song  had  succeeded  dance,'  and  gymnastic  proficiency  had 
been  followed  by  audacity.  He  stood  now,  his  right  limb 

267 


A  NEW  RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

unhipped  from  the  knee  up,  the  toe  pointed  downward,  as 
he  recited  a  vicious  monologue,  which  for  long  had  been 
the  delight  of  the  boulevards.  His  wicked  eyes  roved 
with  a  look  of  conscious  power  over  the  uplifted  faces  of 
his  rapt  audience.  His  words  tumbled  forth  in  a  pic- 
turesque harangue, — a  medley  of  philosophy  and  cynicism. 
He  was  strung  to  the  highest  pitch  of  vainglory,  when 
Mere  Richard  suddenly  gave  vent  to  a  hollow,  hoarse 
shriek,  half  groan,  half  sigh,  and  fell  forward  against  the 
railing  of  her  loge. 

In  an  instant  all  was  confusion.  The  woman  had  been 
stricken  with  apoplexy. 

The  spectators  had  been  cheering  unstintedly,  ex- 
changing nudges  and  asides,  when  the  sound  of  that  awful 
shriek  and  the  falling  of  a  ponderous  body  put  out  their 
mirth. 

Mariotti  stopped  short.  His  right  limb  uncurled  from 
his  left,  where  it  had  twisted  into  a  curious  corkscrew 
shape,  the  toe  pointed  downwards  to  index  his  song's  pur- 
port. He  glanced  involuntarily,  with  a  perceptible  whiten- 
ing of  the  rims  of  his  ears, — the  rest  of  his  face  was  painted 
grotesquely, — towards  that  portion  of  the  theatre  from 
which  the  ominous  sound  had  proceeded.  He  saw  Mere 
Richard  doubled  forward,  her  head  wedged  between  the 
railing  and  the  fauteuil,  her  face  purple,  her  eyes,  haunting, 
congested  balls  of  gleaming  membrane — dead  ! 

With  a  shudder  the  clown  doffed  his  trained  mood  like 
an  old  garment.  His  olive-hued  hands  clawed  out  a  pro- 
test, spasmodically.  He  leaped  to  a  corner  of  the  stage, 
after  one  ghoulish  moment  in  which  the  dead  and  the  living 
eyes  had  confronted  one  another  silently, — that  watchful, 
frightened  audience  between, — and  placed  a  finger  on  an 
electric  button  still  looking  back  over  his  shoulder,  as 
though  spell-bound,  at  those  fixed,  strange  orbs  with  their 

268 


AT  THE  THEATRE  MARIOTTI 

horrible  stare  which  seemed  to  see  something  far  beyond 
him.  With  a  mighty  effort  he  withdrew  his  own,  and  fol- 
lowed their  gaze.  Destiny  !  What  had  those  eyes  told 
him  of  warning  ?  He  seemed,  too,  clutched  in  an  awful 
thraldom.  He  had  read  a  plain  story  of  the  future  which 
awaits  all  mankind. 

Furiously  he  shook  off  this  unbidden  message  with  a 
maddened  expression  of  abject  terror.  Twisting  towards 
the  footlights,  his  back  well  set  against  that  silent  spectator, 
who,  once  so  merry,  refused  now  to  laugh  or  applaud,  or 
even  acknowledge  him,  he  strung  his  nerves  up  to  making 
from  the  shadow  of  death  a  means  of  grace.  His  eyes 
moistened  with  what  his  admirers  described  later  as 
genuine  grief. 

"  Mes  amis,"  he  whispered  gently,  in  broken-hearted 
tones,  as  though  taking  tenderly  that  eagerly  responsive 
throng  into  the  holy  of  holies  of  his  distracted  peace, 
' '  Mere  Richard  is  no  more.  There  is  a  woman  who  has 
played  no  small  part  in  her  day.  She  mothered  many  a 
gamin  who,  without  her  help,  would  have  sunk  into  igno- 
miny, instead  of  rising,  as  I  have  done,"  with  a  smirk 
of  satisfaction,  ' '  to  the  pinnacle  of  cosmopolitan  glory. 
Fame,  she  ever  preached  to  me,  its  chosen  apostle,  is  the 
golden  apple  which  swings  in  sight  of  true  genius.  I  weep 
for  the  going  out  of  so  actual  a  philosopher  as  this  fish- 
wife, who  has  died  happy  witnessing  the  edifying  spectacle 
of  an  old  friend  at  the  apex  of  recognition." 

And  verily,  as  the  great  coarse  body  of  the  deceased 
woman  was  lifted  and  borne  away  by  two  stalwart  indi- 
viduals from  the  Theatre  Mariotti  to  the  Morgue,  Mariotti, 
for  the  first  time  in  public,  seemed  to  weep.  "  In  the 
midst  of  life  we  are — uncertain  !' '  sobbed  he,  in  a  choked 
voice,  his  shoulders  shaking  hysterically,  his  handkerchief 
carried,  in  a  perfect  imitation  of  unmitigated  woe,  to  his 

269 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

sly  eyes, — orbs  which  were  hinting  daringly  and  delightedly, 
even  now,  the  consciousness  that  his  last  escapade  was  his 
best.  Tragedy  had,  too,  its  property  value  he  was  learning  in 
this  terrible  half  hour  in  which  his  nerves  seemed  to  have 
almost  gotten  beyond  his  control,  and  his  very  vitals  had 
shrunk  back  appalled  at  a  truth  his  forced  sophistry  might 
not  gainsay. 

After  five  minutes,  in  which  his  childlike  expression  of 
resigned  sorrow  had  brought  him  nearer  to  the  hearts  of 
his  audience  than  all  the  music  and  the  gayety  of  his 
hitherto  fantastic  repertoire,  Mariotti  reverted  to  his  former 
mood.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  death,  the  inevitable, 
was  forgotten,  and  life,  apres  Mariotti,  was  reborn.  He 
left  no  personage  unattacked  in  his  barefaced  irreverence. 
Either  the  tragedy  recently  enacted  had  fired  his  genius 
anew,  or  it  had  provided  a  novel  outlet  to  his  already 
seething  fancy.  With  his  right  hand  gracefully  laid  across 
his  hip,  his  left  drawing  curious  imaginary  circles  in  the 
air,  he  stood,  nonchalantly  reeling  off  a  vivid  account  of 
the  past  week's  doings,  typical  and  topical,  which  for  in- 
ventive faculty  was  bewildering  as  well  as  just. 

Thus,  inwardly  delighted  at  this,  a  new  evidence  of  un- 
paralleled power,  he  ceased  casting  those  restless  glances 
across  his  shoulder,  from  which  in  the  past  dread  seconds 
he  had  found  it  almost  impossible  to  rid  himself. 

He  did  not  see  three  figures  glide  on  to  the  stage  behind 
him  from  the  wings,  one  of  them  a  small,  unctuous  per- 
sonage with  a  modest  smile  and  downcast  eyes,  the  back 
of  a  sanctimonious  prelate,  and  the  profile  of  an  urchin. 

The  three  newcomers  crept  up  close  behind  him  and  stood 
motionless.  It  was  a  curious  spectacle.  The  Gascon,  in  his 
fantastic  costume,  gracefully  emphasizing  his  humorous 
remarks  with  gestures  as  swift  and  mercurial  as  his  moods. 
The  three  figures,  like  bronze  statues,  eloquently  silent. 

270 


AT  THE  THEATRE   MARIOTTI 

A  voice  speaks  from  the  depths  of  a  hitherto  apparently 
unoccupied  loge  to  the  left  of  the  footlights,  close  to  the 
stage.  It  is  a  ringing  organ,  charged  with  an  underlying 
note  of  command  which  is  peculiarly  striking.  It  fastens 
the  attention  of  that  responsive  audience. 

As  it  salutes  the  air  metallically,  Mariotti  becomes 
rigid. 

' '  Mariotti,  king  of  experts  and  prince  of  good  things, 
tell  us,  thy  slaves,  the  purport  of  that  circlet  which  binds 
the  first  finger  of  thy  right  hand?  Thou  preachest  the 
maxim  of  eternal  mirth.  It  is  but  meet  that  thou  shouldst 
as  much  reveal  the  secret  of  the  amulet  thou  sportest  so 
openly.  Tell  us  the  meaning  of  your  badge  of  beauty  ?' ' 

The  clown  turned  ashen.  He  shook  like  an  aspen  leaf. 
Fumblingly  he  sought  to  tear  the  ring  off  his  shaking 
hand  ;  but,  either  through  awkwardness  or  because  the 
joints  of  his  finger  had  swelled  since  he  had  donned  it, 
the  mark  of  his  thieving  precepts  refused  to  renounce  its 
place.  He  gazed  about  him  wildly  in  search  of  means  of 
egress  as  the  mocking  tones  continued,  but  an  officer  in 
citizen's  clothes  stood  at  the  back  of  the  stage  nonchal- 
antly, and  another  blocked  the  sortie  at  the  left  wing,  and 
yet  another  at  the  right.  Mariotti' s  defiant  muscles 
dwindled.  The  rogue  knew  this  portion  of  his  programme 
was  not  of  his  instigation. 

But  his  audience,  attuned  to  surprises,  wildly  applauded 
the  authoritative  voice  which,  with  unflinching  resolve, 
carried  its  message  straight  home. 

"Thou  wilt  not?  Oh,  unwary  Mariotti  !  Oh,  clown  ! 
Oh,  unjust  expounder  of  a  gayety  thou  thyself,  at  the  first 
touch  of  gloom,  renouncest  !  What  knowest  thou  now 
that  we  may  not  know  ?  What  secret  concealest  thou  that 
other  men  may  not,  too,  believe  ?  Art  thou  made  of  fire 
and  brimstone,  instead  of  flesh  and  blood,  that  thou  darest 

271 


A  NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

thus  defy  ?  Fie,  Mariotti  !  We  know  thy  blood  to  be  the 
blood  of  kings,  thy  flesh  the  rosy,  palpitating  flesh  of  the 
world's  spoiled  child,  thy  spirit  the  noble  spirit  which  com- 
mands allegiance  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest.  Disclose, 
then,  thy  true  identity.  We  would  know  you  through  and 
through.  Thou  exposest  day  by  day  a  new  side  of  thy 
character.  Tell  us,  then,  in  this  hour,  of  those  adorn- 
ments which  decorate  thy  beautiful  body.  The  ring.  Tell 
us  of  the  ring." 

Then  the  clown,  with  a  wild  glare,  a  forefend  of  almost 
delirious  dread,  flung  out  his  fantastic  story  of  the  hollow 
theory  upon  which  his  fame  was  strung. 

' '  The  ring  proclaims  my  destiny — to  rule, ' '  he  cried. 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  caterwaulings  of  the  delighted 
spectators. 

"  See  you  the  iron  hand  in  the  velvet  glove,"  he 
screamed,  shaking  the  finger  with  its  shining  circlet 
furiously  at  the  direction  from  which  the  voice  came. 
"The  emblem  is  my  emblem.  I,  Mariotti,  the  clown, 
have  thus  my  foot  upon  the  world's  neck  ;  that  world  to 
which  lesser  men  cringe,  by  force  of  which  smaller  men 
swerve  from  the  beaten  track  of  achievement.  I  play  my 
own  scale  up  the  fructifying  gamut  of  my  days.  I  attune 
all  joy  to  one  key.  That  key  is  Mariotti." 

But  the  unseen  voice  interrupted  him. 

"Why  not  the  iron  hand  alone?"  it  questioned  ironi- 
cally. ' '  The  velvet  glove  is  worn  but  to  conceal  thy 
true  purpose, — to  dismay.  The  disguise  of  a  coward,  for- 
sooth, which  clothes  itself  in  a  thin  disguise  instead  of 
stripping  itself  nude  to  let  its  muscles  play  their  part 
unhampered.  That  ring  is  not  thine  own,  oh,  great  and 
glorious  clown,  or  thou  hadst  had  a  better  answer  ready. 
Whose,  then,  is  it?" 

Mariotti' s  features  were  by  this  undergoing  a  twitching 

272 


AT  THE  THEATRE   MARIOTTI 

which  looked   as   though  set   in   motion  by  an   electric 
battery. 

"Loose  it,  clown,"  mocked  the  hidden  voice. 

"Who  art  thou?"  cried  Mariotti. 

1 '  I  am  myself.     Thou  canst  not  say  as  much. ' ' 

It  was  an  accusation.  The  sinning  soul  which  could 
have  stood  before  that  multitude  and  declared  itself  not 
guilty  must  have  had  nerves  of  iron  and  muscles  of  steel. 
Mariotti,  in  the  past  hour,  during  his  unwilling  encounter 
with  death,  had  lost  his  feverish  grip. 

The  three  officers  here  came  forward  from  up  the  stage 
to  the  footlights,  and  stood  guard  over  the  stage  hero. 

The  audience  was  elate  with  manifest  delight.  This,  no 
doubt,  was  a  novelty  dished  up  in  original  fashion,  their 
afternoon's  special  treat.  It  bore  the  hall-mark.  There 
was  the  dash  and  dare-devilry  in  it  which  signified 
Mariotti. 

' '  The  day  is  done, ' '  chanted  the  hidden  voice,  sombrely. 
' '  Night  comes  to  Mariotti. ' ' 

Two  hands  were  laid  upon  the  clown's  shoulders.  He 
felt  the  stinging  sensation  of  cold  iron  against  his  flesh. 
Slowly  the  curtain  fell. 

The  astonished  spectators  pushed  their  way  into  the 
street.  Their  mirth,  a  forced  thing  at  best,  rank  with 
insatiate  desire  for  ribaldry,  died  hard  in  their  strained 
throats.  They  felt  dimly  as  though  they  had  been  con- 
fronted with  a  charnelhouse  instead  of  their  promised 
meed  of  illimitable  glee.  They  pushed  and  jostled  one 
another,  expostulating. 

' '  A  clown  who  scoffs  at  his  world,  indeed, ' '  cried  one. 
"Where  were  he,  ask  I,  without  that  same  world? 
Carrion  !" 

"His  footstool,"    sneered  another.       If   the  world  is 
Mariotti' s  footstool,  who,  then,  is  Mariotti?" 
is  273 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

"The  seal  of  death  is  on  that  playhouse,"  muttered 
the  butcher,  crossing  himself  fearfully,  and  bidding  his  wife 
and  children  do  likewise. 


CHAPTER    XXXV 

FOUND 

BEHIND  the  footlights  and  the  drop-curtain,  with  its 
green  dog  running  alongside  a  pink  river,  an  officer  stood 
grimly  superintending  the  annihilation  of  a  depraved  indi- 
vidual who  had  whetted  and  glutted  a  short,  sweet  fame. 
A  minion  of  the  law  firmly  fastened  a  pair  of  handcuffs 
about  two  olive-skinned  wrists,  which  squirmed  vainly  in 
their  frantic  efforts  to  be  free.  Another  struggled  fiercely 
with  a  curling  serpentine  form  which  was  gliding  along  the 
ground,  striving  to  effect  a  wriggling  escape  from  the  coils 
of  a  stout  rope  which  was  being  bound  fast  to  ankles  and 
waist. 

Lubin  reflectively  turned  Conway's  ring  over  and  over 
with  a  look  of  intense  enjoyment.  He  had  drawn  it,  after 
one  bold  struggle,  from  the  clown's  finger. 

"I  arrest  you,"  said  he,  solemnly,  in  response  to  the 
whining  cries  for  mercy,  the  screaming  threats  of  revenge, 
the  curses  horrible  and  augmenting  with  which  the  fetid  air 
seemed  charged,  "in  the  name  of  the  French  Republic, 
for  the  confiscation  of  stolen  goods." 

All  the  answer  he  received  was  another  foul-mouthed 
prayer  for  mercy  from  the  dethroned  idol  at  his  feet.  His 
broken  teeth  bit  the  dust.  The  gods  of  merriment,  which 
the  famous  harlequin  had  worshipped  for  weeks  as  his 
special  fetich,  had  deserted  their  most  faithful  acolyte  in 
his  direst  need. 

274 


FOUND 

"Our  accomplished  friend  will  accompany  us  to  his 
home,  perhaps?"  suggested  Lubin,  with  an  I-told-you-so 
grin  towards  a  couple  of  officers  who  now  joined  them. 
"I  have  orders  to  instigate  a  search  for  stolen  goods  in 
his  apartment. ' ' 

At  this  the  miserable  scoundrel  on  the  ground  gave  vent 
to  a  shrill  shriek.  He  swore  that  for  poverty,  for  sim- 
plicity, for  emptiness,  his  living  place  represented  the  ideal 
shanty  of  the  wanderer  and  the  indigent. 

' '  Be  silent,  Mariotti, ' '  cried  Lamballe,  finally,  laying  his 
hand  on  the  squirming  rascal's  shoulder  with  a  look  of 
pity.  ' '  The  law  which  you  have  so  long  defied  must  be 
obeyed. ' ' 

And  now  ensued  a  scene  which,  for  moral  contrariety, 
defies  description. 

The  clown  manifested  himself  ready  to  comply  with  his 
oppressor's  wish.  The  little  company  started  forth,  Ma- 
riotti piteously  beseeching  that  he  be  led  through  the  more 
obscure  by-ways,  instead  of  onto  the  boulevards,  where  his 
downfall  would  be  immediately  snatched  up  as  food  by  the 
loafers  who  fed  upon  like  discomfiture  as  their  natural 
prey.  In  compliance  with  this,  Lubin  evinced  an  igno- 
rance, concerning  the  tortuous  alley-ways  which  gave  onto 
the  modern  forum,  which  was  highly  instructive,  and 
revealed  the  cunning  of  a  master  hand.  He  had  dealt 
with  pitch  too  long  not  to  have  become  in  a  measure 
defiled.  He,  it  was  evident,  proposed  to  extract  his  own 
revenge  then  and  there  from  the  victim  of  his  skill.  The 
great  Lubin,  who  knew  Paris  as  well  and  better  than  the 
urchin  who  grows,  a  ragged  flower,  fed  at  its  markets,  lost 
his  way.  To  him  and  him  alone  could  be  attributed  the 
grim  irony  of  more  than  once  falling  upon  the  main  high- 
way, clutching  a  pallid,  affrighted  thing  by  the  wrists  and 
shoulders,  with  rolling  eyes  and  foaming  lips,  and  curses 

275 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

breathed  in  many  tongues,  who  looked  upon  the  crowd 
that  gathered  with  delighted  faces  with  the  turbid,  fearful 
gaze  of  a  maddened  soul  in  torment.  The  mob  grew 
apace.  It  finally  followed  the  clown  to  his  tenement,  scoff- 
ing at  his  pitiful  attempts  to  be  released. 

Twice,  when  Mariotti  strove  to  break  through  the  ranks, 
a  friendly  hand  might  have  aided  him, — the  multitude  was 
increasing  minute  by  minute.  A  clear  head,  a  light  pair 
of  heels,  and  he  could  have  still  escaped  by  force  of  the 
slipperiness  of  his  methods,  which  were  ever  unantici- 
pated ;  but  the  tide  had  turned.  A  new  idol  had  already 
come  their  way,  a  novelty,  whereas  the  charlatan's  notoriety 
was  already  half  a  year  old. 

Mariotti' s  reverse  was  now  flying  from  lip  to  lip.  His 
collapse  was  indubitable.  Two  masons  joined  the  ranks 
who  shook  their  fists  at  him,  and  demanded  loudly  their 
pay.  Some  haggard  women  glided  from  an  alley,  where 
they  had  been  waiting  to  waylay  the  clown,  and  told  their 
piteous  story  of  his  cruelty  in  denying  them  their  wages, 
as  he  passed. 

He  finally  brought  up,  the  howling  urchins  at  his  heels, 
the  masons  vowing  vengeance,  the  women  lending  their 
hoarse,  unsexed  voices  to  the  general  pandemonium,  before 
the  tenement  where  unkempt  females  nursed  their  progeny 
on  the  sidewalks  whose  gutters  were  gorged  with  rotten 
fruit  and  loose  paper  ends.  Gnome-built  men,  with  bleary 
eyes,  slunk  to  and  fro  with  empty  beer-bottles  clutched  in 
their  dingy  fists. 

Lubin  halted.  His  cunning  eyes  at  a  glance  foresaw 
that  the  crowd's  attention  must  be  diverted.  He  gave 
an  order  to  one  of  his  aids  in  a  low  voice  and  disap- 
peared. 

The  officer  turned  and  promised  the  mob,  if  it  would  be 
patient,  a  view  of  Mariotti  as  he  was  led  to  prison.  It 

276 


FOUND 

stood  sullenly  awaiting  its  time  to  add  its  mite  to  this  mel- 
ancholy spectacle,  when  the  time  came  for  its  famous  idol's 
crowning  disgrace. 

Lamballe  and  Markoe  had  walked  from  the  theatre,  and 
by  this  had  climbed  the  stairs  of  the  tenement. 

Mariotti's  barred  door  was  locked.  With  the  help  of  a 
neighboring  locksmith  they  entered. 

Mariotti  was  dragged,  shrieking  horribly,  up  the  five 
flights,  and  pitched  like  a  sack  of  merchandise  into  the 
middle  of  the  foul  room. 

The  window — its  thick  iron  bars  let  in  but  dimly  the  sun- 
light— was  flung  wide. 

On  the  bed  lay  stretched  a  motionless  thing,  which  the 
three  men  approached,  with  bated  breath,  on  tiptoe. 

Lamballe  bent  over  it  pitifully,  motioning  Markoe  to 
keep  back.  Swiftly,  with  a  great  start  which  he  strove 
vainly  to  control,  he  reached  forward,  and  dragged  the 
covering  off  the  rigid  young  body  that  lay  there. 

There  had  been  no  mistake.  The  Spanish  eyes,  filmed 
still,  shone  large  and  full.  The  strong  young  figure 
stretched  motionless. 

It  was  Conway  ;  but  so  emaciated,  so  hollow-cheeked, 
the  heavy  lids  half  open,  the  faint  breath  coming  at  uneven 
intervals  between  the  parted  teeth,  his  own  mother  had 
hardly  recognized  him. 

They  forced  some  brandy  between  the  teeth,  and  piled 
pillows  beneath  his  head.  The  temples  were  so  hollow 
that  one  could  have  laid  one's  fist  in  them.  They  pulled 
the  relaxed  head  forward  ;  it  had  fallen  back,  the  jaws 
almost  unlocked.  There  came,  after  a  little,  a  dull  mur- 
mur through  the  cracked  lips. 

His  hands,  those  strong  young  hands  which  Markoe 
remembered  as  so  perfectly  cared  for,  and  shapely,  hung 
limp.  The  nails  looked  as  though  they  had  been  growing 

277 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

for  a  month.  The  body,  though  rigid,  seemed  on  the  eve 
of  utter  collapse.  So  fearful  were  the  awe-stricken  watchers 
of  altogether  checking  the  heart's  action,  they  could  only 
stand  in  guarded  inertia  around  the  bed,  while  Lamballe 
withdrew  to  despatch  a  messenger  for  a  physician. 

Mariotti  crouched  on  the  floor,  groaning  and  whining. 
He  had  reached  out  one  long,  sinuous  hand,  and  had 
grasped  a  broken  beer-bottle,  with  a  furious  look  of  mad- 
dened rage  towards  his  captors,  which  for  unmitigated 
venom  made  them  shudder.  He  now  sat  heaped  up  in  the 
darkest  corner  of  the  room,  his  knees  huddled  to  his  chin, 
chattering  like  a  monkey  in  broken  indistinguishable  sen- 
tences. 

The  physician  arrived  and  cleared  the  room  at  once. 
Only  Markoe  was  left  standing  at  the  bedside  as  he  made 
his  examination. 

The  sheets  were  foul  with  vermin. 

He  turned  with  a  short  sigh  finally,  and  asked  Markoe 
if  he  were  related  to  the  patient. 

Upon  Markoe' s  silent  acquiescence  he  hesitated. 

4 '  I  cannot  say, ' '  he  began,  in  an  authoritative  manner, 
' '  exactly  when  we  may  expect  the  worst,  but  I  have  no 
doubt  it  must  come.  Your  friend  has  been  subjected  to  a 
slow  course  of  starvation  for  weeks.  This  alone  he  might 
have  withstood, — he  evidently  was  possessed  of  a  magnifi- 
cent constitution, — but  with  it  he  has  been  the  victim  of  a 
course  of  poisoning  which  is  nothing  less  than  demoniacal. 
He  has  consumed  arsenic  enough  to  kill  three  men,  and 
has  been  fed  on  morphine  and  cocaine  to  dull  his  faculties. 
If  he  by  any  chance  should  recover,  his  reasoning  powers 
will  be  forever  shattered. ' ' 

Markoe  stood  silent.  If  in  his  heart  he  vowed  ven- 
geance not  a  muscle  of  his  impenetrable  face  betrayed  the 
fact 

278 


"THE  QUICKER  HE  is  REMOVED  THE  BETTER" 


FOUND 

The  physician  made  a  deprecating  gesture. 

' '  He  seems  a  fine  young  fellow, ' '  he  said. 

"  He  was  a  fine  young  fellow,"  vouchsafed  the  Ambas- 
sador. Unconsciously  he  had  made  use  of  the  past  tense 
instead  of  the  present  indicative.  It  seemed  to  register  an 
infidelity  to  the  poor  lad  who,  so  pitifully,  lay  there,  a 
victim  of  circumstances. 

' '  The  quicker  he  is  removed  the  better.  He  must  have 
food,  light,  air,  cleanliness,  but  I  cannot  extend  you  any 
hope.  The  poisons  employed  were  deadly,  inasmuch  as 
they  serve  to  dry  up  the  blood  in  the  brain.  The  cells, 
thus  starved  of  their  requisite  food,  dwindle,  and,  if  left  too 
long,  reject  sustenance  when  proffered  them.  The  mind 
will  be  irretrievably  dwarfed  if  the  patient  lives,  which  is 
doubtful." 

The  physician  took  up  his  hat,  after  having  extricated  a 
small  phial  from  his  pocket,  a  few  drops  from  which  he 
forced  between  Conway's  clinched  teeth.  At  the  Ambas- 
sador's request,  after  having  named  the  amount  of  his  fee, 
which  was  handed  him,  he  withdrew. 

Markoe  crossed  the  room  to  the  chattering  thing  in  the 
corner.  His  soul  sickened  under  the  slow,  sure  compre- 
hension of  what  Conway  must  have  suffered,  in  durance 
vile,  pending  the  twelve  miserable  weeks  which  he  had 
spent  being  tortured  to  death,  impotent  to  acquire  either 
faculty  or  aid. 

' '  Tell  me,  you  fiend  incarnate, ' '  he  muttered,  touching 
the  wriggling  rascal  on  the  floor  with  the  toe  of  his  boot, — 
he  heard  Lubin  giving  instructions  to  procure  a  litter,  con- 
sequent upon  the  doctor's  order, — "what  unseen  power 
threw  that  innocent  individual  into  your  cruel  hands  ?' ' 

But  Mariotti  still  twisted  convulsively,  and  rolled  his 
eyes  toward  the  ceiling,  muttering  Ave  Maria,  and  in- 
voking the  powers  of  hell  to  slay  his  tormentors. 

279 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

Markoe  drew  a  small,  steel-barrelled  instrument  from  his 
hip  pocket,  and  pointed  it  deliberately  at  the  figure  grovel- 
ling on  the  floor.  It  gave  vent  to  a  shrill  shriek,  and 
strove  to  beat  him  off  with  shaking  hands. 

"We'll  have  you  up  before  the  Juge  de  la  Paix  be- 
fore you  are  an  hour  older,  you  cur,"  he  muttered,  in 
deadly  tones,  "but  I  propose  to  have  some  things  out 
with  you  myself.  Speak,  or  I  won't  answer  for  my 
acts  !" 

"He  stole  from  me,"  screamed  Mariotti ;  "he  robbed 
me  of  my  clothes.  'Twas  he,"  he  muttered,  with  a 
hideous  imprecation,  "who  turned  from  me  my  noblest 
patron. ' ' 

"  Your  noblest  patron's  name?"  demanded  the  Ambas- 
sador, imperatively,  still  with  that  fierce,  stirred  look  in  his 
customarily  imperturbable  countenance. 

"Lamballe." 

"  Lie  upon  lie,  you  bundle  of  iniquity,"  returned  Lam- 
balle, after  disposing  the  rigid,  emaciated  body  of  Conway 
upon  the  litter  brought  for  the  purpose.  He  approached 
Mariotti  with  two  police  officers,  who  roughly  dragged 
him  to  his  feet,  shuddering  and  whimpering.  ' '  Conway 
had  no  more  to  do  with  me  than  I  with  him.  What 
would  you  insinuate?" 

The  clown  cursed  hotly,  with  a  look  of  cunning  which 
defied  still  his  captors.  He  might  be  on  the  verge  of  a 
revelation  which  would  guillotine  him  ;  all  the  more  he 
thirsted  for  revenge. 

"I  go  to  prison,"  he  said.  "  Soit  !  But  still  I  hold  a 
secret  in  this  brain,"  striking  his  forehead  harshly,  leaving 
in  the  violent  process  a  dull,  purplish  mark  against  the 
soiled  skin,  "for  which  I  ask  my  price." 

"We  will  find  means  to  extract  that  secret  from  you," 
grimly  returned  the  individual  with  the  steel-barrelled  in- 

280 


FOUND 

strument,  which,  by  now,  he  had  slipped  back  into  place 
over  his  hip  pocket. 

Mariotti  faced  the  brave  eyes  with  an  oblique  expression 
in  his  long,  narrow  ones.  "  If  it  had  not  been  for  her, ' '  he 
cried,  dramatically,  with  a  leer,  ' '  I  had  not  known  the 
value  of  yonder  pimping  idiot, ' '  pointing  to  the  motionless 
body  of  Conway,  which  was  now  being  conveyed  from  the 
room. 

The  rogue  was  satisfied. 

He  saw  a  look  of  unpremeditated  repugnance  flash 
across  the  countenance  of  the  United  States  representa- 
tive. It  came  and  vanished  in  a  trice  ;  but  Mariotti  knew 
his  random  shot  had  struck  home. 

With  a  shrug  he  stopped  struggling,  gave  himself  up, 
and  the  two  officers  drew  him  across  the  threshold.  As 
he  vanished,  he  glanced  across  his  shoulder  at  the  figure 
of  the  neutral-expressioned  man  who  from  the  first  had  im- 
planted in  the  rogue's  seething  breast  a  desire  to  sting  and 
wound.  He  felt  an  innate  distaste  for  inanimate  flesh. 

He  had  thrown  his  dart  with  unfaltering  skill.  No  one 
knew  better  than  this  student  of  other  men's  foibles  that 
to  be  tortured  by  a  doubt  is  to  travel  the  pace  that  kills. 

That  doubt  was  the  Ambassador's. 

The  scoundrel  let  forth  three  words  as  he  left  the  room. 
Lubin,  who  stood  aside,  mockingly  salaaming  to  let  him 
pass, — the  litter  with  its  piteous  burden  was  ahead, — heard 
it.  So  did  Lamballe,  as  he  picked  up  his  hat  from  the 
floor  where  it  had  fallen,  as  he  stooped  low  over  the  mis- 
erable cot.  So  did  the  man  who  was  attacked  by  it  in  his 
profoundest  part, — his  self-respect. 

"  Cherchez  la  femme,"  hissed  Mariotti. 


281 


A  NEW  RACE  DIPLOMATIST 
CHAPTER  XXXVI 

BETWEEN    DARK   AND    DAYLIGHT 

THE  low-lived  insinuation  left  a  bruise,  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  its  victim's  make-up  was  attuned  to  so  lofty  a  key 
that  in  any  less  painful  hour  Mariotti's  wicked  attempt  to 
discomfit  his  powerful  adversary  would  have  passed  by 
him  almost  unnoticed.  Almost,  had  it  concerned  himself 
alone  ;  but  it  did  not  concern  himself  alone.  It  related  to 
the  sacredest  hidden  chamber  of  his  shaken  faith. 

The  Ambassador,  with  a  quick  flush  which  seared  his 
impenetrable  face  like  a  burn,  drew  one  imperceptible  sigh, 
and  stood  still,  as  though  stabbed  to  the  heart. 

Lamballe  stopped  a  moment,  alert,  on  the  threshold. 
He  looked  over  his  shoulder  at  the  quiet,  unassuming 
figure.  His  trained  gift  of  sentiment  dared  what  a  colder 
nature's  sense  of  delicacy  might  have  precluded.  His 
gaze  had  construed,  with  an  acknowledgment  of  acute 
sympathy,  the  expression  of  aversion  which,  for  a  second, 
made  Markoe's  countenance  alive  and  vivid.  One  hand 
had  been  raised  to  adjust  his  hat.  At  the  same  time  it  hid 
the  furrowed  lines  in  his  scowling  forehead. 

The  Parisian's  eyes  confronted  a  pair  of  grey  ones, 
which  at  this  moment  more  than  ever,  in  their  palpable 
endeavor  to  express  nothing,  were  colorless.  Lamballe' s 
were  brilliant  black  orbs  containing  a  crosswise  glint  criti- 
cized by  his  enemies  as  sharp  as  a  knife,  and  as  cruel  ;  by 
his  friends,  wells  of  luminous  benevolence.  That  cross- 
wise gleam  seemed  to  broaden  at  this  moment.  It  ex- 
tended its  effulgence  across  his  kind  face. 

"  The  scoundrel's  role  is  played  through,"  he  remarked, 

282 


BETWEEN  DARK  AND  DAYLIGHT 

lightly  ;  had  Markoe  taken  pains  to  study  his  tone  he 
would  have  perceived  it  singularly  devoid  of  the  sympathy 
which  was  the  root  of  its  expression.  The  Parisian  knew 
that  in  moments  of  intense  suffering  hidden  anguish  is  in- 
creased fourfold  if  it  be  alluded  to  by  a  tactless  outsider 
who  voices  what  is  considered  by  the  sufferer  as  unutter- 
able. Markoe  remembered  once,  long  after,  that  Lam- 
balle's  voice  had,  at  this  hour  of  unpremeditated  mental 
confusion,  sounded  like  a  chime  of  silver  bells. 

"I  can  see  it  all,"  cried  Lamballe,  bringing  his  lids 
closely  together,  as  though  at  the  moment  instituting  a 
microscopic  investigation  of  a  seemingly  insignificant  item. 

' '  All  what  ?' '     The  voice  was  spent. 

' '  Mariotti'  s  little  game. ' '  He  paused,  and  smiled  slowly 
here  ;  the  clown's  piercing  shrieks  could  be  heard  mount- 
ing the  stairs,  down  which  he  was  so  mercilessly  being 
dragged  to  his  doom,  begging  for  pity.  ' '  One  would 
think  that  rascal  recognized  Paris  detective  methods  too 
well  to  attempt  blackmail." 

"Blackmail!" 

Lamballe  stooped.  With  no  perceptible  call  for  com- 
mitting so  unnecessary  a  piece  of  disinterested  orderliness, 
he  lifted  a  broken  bottle  from  the  floor  and  placed  it  upon 
a  neighboring  shelf.  As  he  performed  this  office,  he 
naturally  turned  his  back  upon  the  Ambassador.  He  thus 
escaped  the  knowledge  that  his  listener's  face  underwent  a 
marked  change  of  expression.  Was  it  relief  or  bewilder- 
ment? 

"Clear,"  continued  the  Frenchman,  colloquially,  "as 
the  nose  on  my  face,  and  that, ' '  laughingly,  ' '  is  clear  as 
day.  Mariotti  by  some  mysterious  means  has  secured 
Madame  Markoe' s  trust.  Oh  !"  at  the  Ambassador's  in- 
voluntary movement  of  surprise,  "I,  too,  have  perceived 
the  kind  lady's  absorption.  I  have  seen  her  emotion  and 

283 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

uncontrollable  anxiety.  How  could  I  help  it,  since  we 
are  friends?  But  if  she,  from  some  exalted  sense  which 
we  beings  of  a  coarser  organism  may  not  conjecture,  has 
chosen  to  keep  her  secret  to  herself,  how  infamous  will  be 
her  punishment. ' ' 

' '  What  punishment  ?' ' 

1 '  You  cannot  foresee  ?  Why,  the  very  fact  of  her  col- 
lusion with  Mariotti  is  the  key  to  the  scoundrel's  slow,  in- 
sidious method  of  torture.  He  has  promised  to  bring 
your  friend  to  her.  She,  trusting  him,  believed  the  clown 
to  have  this  in  his  power.  He,  perceiving  her  innocence, 
has  played  upon  it,  and  demanded  extortionate  sums  while 
bidding  her  be  patient  that  he  might  put  through,  in  some 
mysterious  fashion,  his  ends.  She  has  played  into  his 
hands.  It  has  almost  killed  the  delicate  woman.  The 
rascal  has  literally  held  the  whip  over  her  head.  He  has 
exacted  secrecy,  knowing  that,  once  his  nefarious  methods 
were  disclosed,  his  house  of  cards  would  fall  to  the  ground. 
Her  faith  has  been  her  undoing.  Mariotti,  assured  of  it, 
has  killed  his  victim,  because  he  through  her  has  been 
acknowledged  to  represent  an  apparently  inexhaustible 
value.  He  may  not  have  meant  to  kill  him,  but  such  has 
been,  or  will  be,  the  end.  What  will  be  the  unutterable 
self-accusation  of  the  Ambassadress  when  she  learns  the 
whole  miserable  truth  ?' ' 

He  received  no  answer.  He  cast  a  look  of  keen  sym- 
pathy in  Markoe's  direction.  Then  he  stepped  forth  and 
closed  the  door. 

Five  minutes  later  the  Ambassador  followed  the  little 
cortege  down  into  the  street,  where  a  hushed  and  threaten- 
ing crowd  was  straining  its  neck  and  eyes,  gazing  at  an 
ambulance  into  which  the  litter,  with  its  piteous  burden, 
was  lifted  tenderly.  Some  of  the  women  had  burst  into 
tears.  One  old  hag  lifted  her  scraggy  arms,  and  called 

284 


BETWEEN  DARK  AND  DAYLIGHT 

down  blessings  on  the  form  which  lay  so  pathetically  out- 
lined under  its  covering,  a  green  cloth  obtained  from  a 
neighboring  billiard  saloon.  It  left  the  parted  lips  and 
the  sunken  half-closed  eyes  exposed. 

The  ambulance  drove  away. 

Then  a  limp  and  formless,  protesting,  pallid  thing  with 
livid  cheeks  and  gibbering  jaws,  was  hustled  forward,  its 
handcuffs  rattling,  into  a  wagon  which  stood,  formidably 
equipped  with  officers,  near  the  curbstone. 

As  it  was  forced  forward,  it  turned  with  a  curse,  and  fast- 
ened its  dark,  broken  fangs  in  Lubin's  hand.  The  detective 
gripped  the  trapeze  performer's  shoulder.  The  mob  broke 
out  into  the  fiercest  oaths  and  denunciations.  Some 
urchins  on  the  roof  of  a  neighboring  tenement  began 
pitching  stones  at  the  affrighted  prisoner.  With  extreme 
difficulty  the  police  conveyed  their  shrieking,  slippery  cus- 
tomer from  the  house  to  the  street,  and  from  the  curbstone 
hustled  him  into  the  cart.  He  finally  made  his  way  through 
a  horde  of  vindictive  faces  and  threatening  fists.  As 
Lubin,  six  officers,  and  Mariotti  drove  off,  the  air  was 
rent  with  a  piercing  cry,  bestial  in  its  ungoverned  fury. 
This  cry  voiced  one  word.  The  word  was  ' '  Assassin  !' ' 

There  was  no  doubt  the  Cour  de  Cassation  would  ring 
with  more  of  the  clown's  iniquities  than  even  the  present 
occasion  warranted. 

Lamballe  turned  with  an  alert  expression  towards  the 
silent  figure  which  stood  at  his  elbow. 

"The  train  leaves  for  Carembourg  at  four  twenty,"  he 
ejaculated,  abruptly.  ' '  We  have  no  time  to  lose.  We 
must  break  the  news  to  them." 

The  Ambassador  drew  his  watch  from  his  vest  pocket, 
and  confirmed  Lamballe' s  time-keeper.  A  slowly  gather- 
ing look  of  determination  excluded  everything  else  from 
his  jaded  countenance. 

285 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

He  lifted  one  finger,  and  hailed  a  passing  fiacre. 

"I  go  to  the  hospital  —  to  attend  Convvay,  '  '  he  vouch- 
safed, dryly. 

"  But  the  Ambassadress?"  protested  Lamballe,  aghast. 

The  Ambassador  was  guilty  of  a  faintly  ironical  smile. 

"Pardon  me,"  he  explained,  "but  you  are  arguing 
from  the  French  standpoint.  Our  women  are  educated  to 
fight  their  battles  out  alone.  '  ' 

'  '  But  when  she  knows  the  truth,  when  she  realizes  that 
what  she  has  so  earnestly  striven  to  advance  she  has  only 
been  instrumental  in  bringing  to  a  fatal  development,  when 
she  learns  that  all  her  secrecy  has  been  in  vain,  that  she, 
and  she  altogether  is  responsible  for  this  unlocked  for  con- 
tretemps ?'  ' 

"The  Ambassadress  is  a  brave  woman,"  returned  the 
Ambassador,  as  he  stepped  into  the  fiacre,  still  with  that 
inscrutable  smile  on  his  clean-cut  features. 

It  pervaded  them  as  he  lifted  his  hat  to  Lamballe,  and 
drove  off. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

A   RADICAL    DEVELOPMENT 

THE  two  women  had  been  seated  that  afternoon,  chat- 
ting with  Marguerite  de  Launoy.  She  had  left  them 
finally,  with  their  web-like  fancy  work.  Now  the  spell  of 
acknowledged  impotence  had  fallen  upon  them.  Their  ob- 
serving hostess  had  striven,  for  many  hours,  to  dispel  it. 
She  had  understood  with  the  tenderest  sympathy  the  sus- 
pense which  left  them  each  so  markedly  more  and  more 
wan  each  day.  Startling  pallor  and  lack  of  appetite  told, 
more  eloquently  than  words,  their  own  sad  story  of  white 

286 


A  RADICAL   DEVELOPMENT 

nights,  wherein  mother  and  friend  tossed  on  their  pillows, 
revolving  in  their  strained,  dazed  brains,  the  eternal  prob- 
lem which  would  not  be  solved. 

Blackest  silence  settled  down,  silence  devoid  of  elasticity 
or  responsiveness.  Kate  Markoe  let  her  embroidery  fall 
onto  her  knees  ;  its  indifferent  accomplishment  had  signi- 
fied but  a  subterfuge  after  all.  She  looked  painfully  frail ; 
her  delicate  skin  was  more  than  ever  transparent ;  her 
glorious  eyes  seemed  haunting  wells  of  conscious  defeat. 

Mrs.  Conway  looked  across  at  her  at  last.  Their  mutual 
glance  of  hopelessness  told  its  own  piteous  story. 

"It  was  twelve  weeks  yesterday,"  whispered  the 
mother,  with  a  choked  sigh  that  was  infinitely  touching. 
"I  have  prayed,  Kate;  prayed  and  prayed.  Oh,  why 
does  not  God  answer  when  we  ask,  as  we  ask,  at  once, 
instead  of  forcing  us  to  wait.  His  own  good  time? 
Patient !  I  have  been  patient.  I  feel  as  though  there  is 
no  possibility  I  have  not  tried  to  foresee,  and  fortify  myself 
against.  Now,  when  I  wake  from  that  painful  broken 
sleep  which  assails  me  at  odd  hours,  I  find  myself  endeav- 
oring to  beat  off  God's  will." 

She  whispered  the  last  words  fearfully,  looking  about  her 
cautiously  that  no  one  might  surprise  so  unholy  a  confes- 
sion. 

In  answer  the  Ambassadress  leaned  forward,  her  lips 
working  pitifully,  to  lay  one  slim  hand  close  against  her 
friend's  delicate  wrist.  The  wailing  voice  continued ; 
touch  does  little  to  bring  together  the  gaping  lips  of  a 
widening  wound  like  this. 

"  I  used  to  have  words — words  I  taught  my  boy  once 
about  'Thy  will  be  done.'  I  can't  say  them  any  more, 
Kate;  I  cannot  say  them,  try  as  I  may,"  through  her 
clinched  teeth. 

"Oh,  hush!" 

287 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

But  Mrs.  Conway,  for  once,  was  too  intent  upon  her 
own  grief  to  heed  that  the  sharp  protest  was  stimulated  by 
a  desire  to  ward  off,  at  any  cost,  this  rebuke  which  em- 
bodied so  unconsciously  cutting  a  retaliation. 

' '  Don' t  you  tell  me  to  '  hush. '  I  must  speak.  You 
cannot  know  what  it  is  to  have  had  a  child,  and  to  lose 
him." 

"No." 

The  low  response  was  fraught  with  pain  ;  it  seemed  a 
sullen  acknowledgment  that  woman's  most  cherished  priv- 
ilege was  not  to  be  for  the  delicate  creature  who,  her  chin 
in  her  scooped  palms,  her  two  miserable,  hopeless  eyes 
looking  into  vacancy,  sat  still. 

' '  To  have  felt  his  baby  arms  about  your  neck,  his  baby 
lips  against  your  bosom  ;  to  have  been  his  sustenance,  the 
breath  of  his  nostrils,  his  life-stream,  and  then  to  have  him 
grow  away  from  you.  Motherhood  !  Is  there  any  trial  on 
earth  equal  to  the  calvary  comprised  in  that  term  ?  We 
nourish,  we  sustain,  we  give  our  flesh  and  blood,  and  then 
we  thrust  them  from  us — are  we  noble  and  unselfish  ? — that 
they  may  'grow'  !  Wifehood  is  nothing,  nothing,  I  tell 
you,  in  comparison,"  fiercely. 

Kate  Markoe  had  bowed  her  head  lower  now  ;  the  tears 
were  falling  unchecked  onto  the  lace  under  her  drooping 
chin. 

' '  Men  think  that  their  love,  forsooth,  is  enough  ;  that 
we  women  can  gratify  our  thirst  for  perpetual  evidence  of 
affection  off  a  perfunctory  caress,  or  a  burning,  exacting 
emphasis  of  possession.  They  are  mistaken.  What  we 
women  need,  to  minister  unto,  is  helplessness  ;  what  our 
nature  craves  is  the  clinging,  tender  little  arms,  the  tire- 
less, sweet,  milk-hungry  lips.  The  rest  is  never  satisfying 
enough.  I  wonder  often  why  the  need  of  little  children  to 
gratify  the  hunger  in  women's  hearts  has  not  strewn  the 

288 


A  RADICAL   DEVELOPMENT 

world  with  graven  images  of  unrest  named  Unappeased 
Motherhood.  We  desire  the  hourly  consciousness  that 
our  loved  ones  cannot  live  without  us  ;  not  the  happen  so 
of  a  magnetic  current  which  merges  into  another  of  its 
species,  and  grows  together  in  one  channel,  and  names  it- 
self 'affinity,'  but  the  element  of  self-sacrifice,  which 
comes  with  birth,  and  labor,  and  ecstatic  avowal  of 
maternity, — women's  natural  and  voluntary  martyrdom. 
Oh,  we  are  martyrs  whichever  way  we  look  at  our  poor, 
one-sided  lives, ' '  hysterically,  ' '  martyrs,  martyrs. ' ' 

They  both  fell  to  sobbing  unstintedly. 

They  did  not  perceive  a  masculine  figure  advance  from 
between  two  slender  Ionic  pillars  at  the  end  of  the  long 
hall  whose  windows  faced  the  laughing  valley.  Along 
that  valley  the  shadows  had  told  their  summer  idyl  of  a 
slow  twilight.  It  now  lay  sleeping  softly  under  the  purple 
moonlight,  a  wide  shaft  of  plum-colored  velvet  barred  with 
sheeny  stripes,  silver  fringed.  They  threw  the  trees  out, 
above  them,  into  feathery  tossing,  bottle-green  bouquets  of 
indefinite  draughtsmanship. 

There  had  been  broken  voices  outside  for  some  moments 
which,  at  first  rising  and  falling  in  the  emotion  coincident 
with  an  excited  relation,  had  finally  subdued  into  bitterest 
weeping.  Afterwards  had  come  a  woman's  figure  at  the 
doorway,  holding  apart  two  sumptuous  pieces  of  tapestry 
which  cut  off  the  downstairs  living-room  from  the  main 
hall.  This  figure  was  Marguerite  de  Launoy's  regal, 
trembling  one,  with  its  wide,  far-seeing  gaze,  and  its 
patient  eyes.  It  now  stood  in  one  corner,  fearful,  expec- 
tant, its  hands  clasped  before  it  as  though  in  prayer. 

Lamballe  came  reluctantly  forward,  manfully  intent  upon 

performing  in  the  tenderest  fashion  the  saddest  mission  of 

his  life.     He  thought,  sorrowfully,  that  it  was  a  curious 

coincidence  which  had  made  it  his  portion  to  take  from  the 

19  289 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

woman  he  still  fondly  loved  her  hope  of  peace,  present 
and  to  come. 

How  should  he  do  it  ? 

To  arrive  at  this  inopportune  moment  when  the  mother's 
heart  was  almost  breaking,  in  the  hour  when  the  wife's 
confession  of  her  voluntary  martyrdom,  pent  up  for  years, 
had  at  last  burst  its  barriers  in  that  exceeding  bitter  cry 
which  Lamballe,  to  his  consternation,  had  surprised  unwit- 
tingly !  She  had  need  of  loving  arms,  and  pleading  lips  ; 
the  candid,  ardent  utterance  of  a  boyish  young  thing 
carrying  the  glory  of  her  own  vanished  youth  in  his  vivid 
face, — not  himself,  the  saddened,  submissive  version  of 
middle-aged  philosophy  which  men  name  wisdom,  and 
know  to  be  but  tolerance. 

She  was  the  love  of  his  life,  and  he  must  break  her 
heart  ! 

She  looked  up.  Her  eyes  were  blinded  with  tears  ;  her 
poor  unsought-for  lips,  which  now  trembled  undisguisedly 
over  having  sought  in  her  child's  incipient  caresses  the 
legitimate  passion  they  had  missed,  were  pallid  and  drawn. 
Choking  sighs  came  through. 

As  she  glanced  up  she  saw  Lamballe.  Very  unaffect- 
edly, and  quite  simply,  she  wiped  away  her  tears.  His 
tall  figure  came  forward,  out  of  the  gloom,  stumbling  a 
trifle.  His  expressive  face  was  stamped  with  a  new  sor- 
row, which  she  instantly  perceived.  His  manner  expressed 
a  hesitancy  which  was  foreign  to  Mrs.  Conway's  knowledge 
of  him.  She  trembled.  Her  heart  shook  with  an  awful 
dread. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  ran  forward,  extending  help- 
lessly her  shaking,  exquisite  hands. 

' '  You  have  been  absent  two  days  !' '  she  cried.  ' '  What 
news  ?' ' 

All  at  once  Lamballe  found  he  had  lost  the  power  of 

290 


A  RADICAL  DEVELOPMENT 

speech.  He  remembered  afterwards  that  strange  sensation 
was  the  offshoot  of  an  anguished  look  she  had  given  him, 
which  cut  through  him  at  that  agitated  moment  like  a 
knife.  Then,  seeing  his  vain  effort  to  speak,  she  made  a 
commanding  gesture,  and  walked  forward.  At  another 
time  her  act  would  have  been  criticised  justly  as  unwar- 
rantably familiar.  In  this,  it  signified  self-forgetfulness. 

She  did  the  only  thing  it  occurred  to  her  to  do,  doffing 
conventionality  in  the  process  with  that  simplicity  which 
attacks  all  great  natures  at  supreme  moments.  In  the 
doing  she  forgot  that  once,  many  years  ago,  she  had  been 
guilty  of  the  same  sweet,  unstudied  impulse  under  totally 
different  auspices  :  at  that  time,  as  in  this,  indifferent  to 
the  interpretation  which  might  be  put  upon  her  spontaneity. 

The  thought  only  flashed  over  them  both,  simultane- 
ously, a  moment  later  when  their  eyes  met. 

It  had  been  the  day  he  had  asked  her  to  be  his  wife. 
She  had  answered  his  question,  through  which  his  heart 
beats  panted  out  their  story  of  self-depreciation,  at  once, 
in  order — he  had  seized  the  fact  of  such  untold  sweetness 
with  avidity  then,  as  he  remembered  it  now — that  he 
should  be  put  out  of  pain  ! 

She  had  said  instantly,  her  fair  face  lifted  in  radiant  joy, 
her  maidenly  acknowledgment  at  its  apogee  of  self-reveal- 
ment,  "  How  can  I  help  it  ?" 

Lamballe  now  felt  suddenly  translated  into  that  curious 
state  which  all  human  souls  frequent  once  or  twice  in 
life,  of  having  lived  through  this  era  before,  at  a  time 
when  he  might  have  profited  off  its  richness,  and  had 
not. 

Mrs.  Conway  stood  with  one  hand  on  each  of  his  shoul- 
ders, looking  in  all  confidence  and  faith  into  the  face  of  the 
man  who  up  to  now  she  considered  had  most  wantonly 
betrayed  her  faith.  The  tears  stood,  arrested  crystal 

291 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

pearls,  upon  her  cheeks  ;  her  pure  eyes  blazed  out  the 
same  peremptory  command  which  a  lioness  might  show  in 
a  reach-out  claw-grip  for  her  cub. 

"  What  news?"  she  repeated,  with  a  little  shake.  Then, 
as  he  did  not  speak,  a  sudden  awful  pallor  fell  across  her 
face,  putting  out  its  faint  rose  tint,  thinning  its  contour, 
and  leaving  the  indelible  impress  of  a  dreaded  catastrophe. 

"He  is  dead?"  she  asked,  dully.  The  tones  seemed 
husks.  The  fair  face  was  chiselled  in  stone. 

Lamballe's  heart  beat  quickly.  She  was  striving, — his 
great  live  mind  encompassed  the  thought  with  a  mighty 
throb, — she  was  endeavoring  now,  as  then,  to  help  him  tell 
his  story  in  the  way  which  would  hurt  him  the  least. 
Faithful  to  her  own  unselfish  nature,  in  spite  of  the 
mutually  inexplicable  past,  her  spirit  had  risen  to  the 
height  of  having  spared  him  pain  once  again.  She  had 
said  it  for  him  to  save  him  from  suffering  ! 

The  question  of  either  her  duplicity,  or  unfaith,  was 
stilled  for  evermore.  Only  the  old  love  stood  in  good  stead 
as  he  caught  both  her  hands  in  his,  and,  pressing  them 
down  against  his  shoulders  very  gently,  as  he  did  so  said, — 

"Madeleine,  your  boy  has  been  found  ;  but  ill,  very  ill. 
If  you  are  able  you  must  go  to  him,  but " 

"  Oh,  say  it  quickly.     I  am  stronger  now." 

The  ' '  now' '  leaped  up  involuntarily  ;  a  reveille  sound- 
ing the  morning.  It  registered  a  soul's  release  from  cap- 
tivity. For  her,  too,  the  years,  in  this  complex  moment, 
had  vanished. 

They  two  stood  self-confessed.  Oh,  ecstacy  unparalleled 
and  untold  !  Fate  had  brought  them  soul  to  soul  in  her 
deepest  sorrow,  as  they  had  stood  once,  knee-deep  in 
youth  and  hope,  clasped  each  to  each,  a  golden  love- 
fraught  day  ! 

Shame  might  have  accompanied  another  woman's  ac- 

292 


A  RADICAL  DEVELOPMENT 

knowledgment  of  fulfilment  under  such  circumstances. 
Madeleine  Conway's  nature  was  too  honest  to  deny  that, 
even  within  the  radius  of  her  son's  possible  going  out,  she 
could  realize  his  loss  might  be  born  with  comparative  calm, 
if  Ferdinand  Lamballe  stood  at  her  side,  to  support  her  in 
her  bitterest  hour.  For  grief  is  twofold  when  undivided. 

"  He  has  been  found,"  he  said  at  last.  In  spite  of  him- 
self his  voice  gushed  forth  richly.  He  had  clasped  her 
hands  in  his  two,  caressingly  ;  he  was  taking  a  deep 
draught  from  those  blue  eyes  for  which  he  had  hun- 
gered so  long.  They  were  lifted  now,  giving  him  back 
glance  for  glance  all  her  woman's  heart  revealed.  They 
stood  so  close  he  could  see  the  iris  widen  and  darken. 
"We  fear,"  he  added,  slowly,  "that  if  he  does  recover — 
his  reason — it  may  be  irretrievably  shattered."  If  there 
had  been  some  way  to  say  the  cruel  words  more  gently 
than  this,  he  thought,  that  way  had  not  been  pointed  out 
to  him. 

Mrs.  Conway  trembled  visibly.  Lamballe  stood  with 
the  dear  hands  in  his  ;  they  were  gradually  turning  icy 
cold. 

"His  'reason'?" 

The  owner  of  Carembourg  changed  his  position  with  a 
start. 

The  voice  was  not  Mrs.  Conway's  ;  neither  did  it  come 
from  the  imposing  figure  on  the  threshold  that  had  stood 
all  this  while  silently  watching  the  little  scene,  which  had 
held  so  unconscious  and  unexpected  a  circumstance. 

The  voice  was  Mrs.  Markoe's. 

She  stood  now,  an  ashen  thing,  made,  it  seemed  to 
Lamballe' s  acute  perception,  of  a  thin  white  flame,  which 
licked  up  his  meaning,  and  burned  it  out  more  quickly 
than  he  could  form  the  syllables. 

' '  His  reason  !     You  mean  that  he  is  mad  ?' ' 

293 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

Her  question  seemed  to  be  voicing  itself  without  her 
own  volition  through  her  parched  lips. 

"He  has  been  found,"  Lamballe  explained  very  dis- 
tinctly,— he  thought  the  sooner  the  agony  was  over,  the 
quicker  would  come  the  Ambassadress's  adjustment  of 
self-control;  possibly,  poor  thing! — "in  the  house  of  a 
clown,  who  is  known  to  all  Paris  as  '  Mariotti. '  We  have 
not  learned  as  yet  when  or  by  what  means  the  clown  ob- 
tained knowledge  of  his  victim's  identity,  or  how  he  lured 
him  to  his  foul  nest.  We  only  have  surprised  the  fact  that 
Conway  has  been  subjected  to  a  course  of  slow  poisoning 
and  brutal  treatment  for  weeks. ' ' 

He  stopped  a  moment,  hopeful  that  the  Ambassadress 
might  think  to  collect  herself ! 

Of  this  she  seemed  for  the  moment  incapable.  She  was 
gazing  at  him  with  an  expression  of  self-accusing  appre- 
hension, which  increased  rapidly,  as  his  words  confirmed 
her  awful  dread  that  she,  and  she  alone,  had  been  instru- 
mental in  bringing  the  affair  to  its  present  hideous  develop- 
ment. Oh,  the  pity  of  it,  the  untold  pity  of  the  fact  that 
wherein  she  had  meant  to  aid  and  expedite,  she  had  only 
warped  and  ruined  ! 

"For  some  reason,"  continued  Lamballe  swiftly,  "he 
has  been  kept  there.  I  presume,  as  a  sort  of  hostage. 
As  soon  as  Mariotti  discovered  his  identity  he  turned  on 
the  screws  with  some  intermediary. ' ' 

He  wished  she  would  turn  away  those  piteous  eyes. 

"The  clown,  no  doubt,  intended  ultimately  to  play  the 
part  of  the  stage  brigand,  and  offer  to  release  his  victim,  alive 
or  dead,  upon  the  payment  of  a  certain  ransom.  It  is,  I  fear, 
too  late.  If  there  had  not  been  some  one  in  collusion  with 
him  in  the  past  few  weeks,  from  whom  he  has  extracted 
funds  irregularly,  exacting  secrecy,  and  promising  fulfil- 
ment in  the  natural  course  of  events,  Conway  would  have 

294 


A  RADICAL   DEVELOPMENT 

been  given  up  long  since,  as  his  oppressor  would  not  have 
been  provided  with  means  to  carry  out  his  dramatic 
satire. ' ' 

"  How  has  he  been  '  tortured'  ?"  colorlessly.  She  had 
one  hand  across  her  eyes.  The  other  was  twisting  the 
piece  of  embroidery  she  held  in  her  shaking  fingers  tight 
about  them. 

' '  I  think  it  is  wiser  and  kinder, ' '  very  pitifully,  ' '  if  that 
portion  of  my  story  remains  unembellished. " 

Lamballe  had  stated  the  dry  facts  as  concisely  as  his  tact 
and  delicacy  allowed  him.  He  was  profoundly  regretful  at 
the  sad  part  so  unwittingly  played  in  this  long  drama  by 
the  woman  before  him.  He  had  remained  as  yet  undecided 
as  to  the  measure  to  be  meted  out  to  her  concerning  Con- 
way's  downfall.  World-wise,  he  seldom  deducted  unless 
called  upon  to  do  so  ;  then  he  exercised  the  utmost  sym- 
pathy and  forbearance  of  criticism.  He  considered  the 
Ambassador's  wife  an  exquisite  creature,  with  more  than 
the  customary  feminine  lack  of  judgment.  He  thought  it 
quite  likely  that  she  had  been  induced  to  aid  Mariotti  in 
order  to  secure  more  quickly  her  own  peace  of  mind  ;  for 
he  had  taken  into  consideration  long  ere  this  the  painful 
attitude  in  which  Markoe  and  his  wife  stood  regarding 
their  helper,  who  had  sacrificed  himself  in  the  international 
cause,  out  of  a  natural  exuberance  which  seemed  the  over- 
flow of  the  young  American  temperament. 

But  as  he  looked  at  the  figure,  gradually  stiffening  be- 
fore him  into  what  appeared  an  image  of  grey  clay,  he 
dimly  wondered  if,  after  all,  that  expression  of  aversion  he 
had  seen  gradually  spreading  over  the  Ambassador's 
neutral  countenance  had  been  entirely  unwarranted. 
Those  eyes,  the  only  living  things  in  the  beautiful  stony 
face,  were  certainly  self-denunciative.  The  hands  had 
fallen  to  her  sides.  Her  embroidery  lay  at  her  feet.  Her 

295 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

gown,  with  its  trimmings  of  turquoise  and  jet,  rattled  a 
little  under  the  restless  tapping  of  her  foot. 

Her  stiffened  lips  let  forth  one  word,  after  her  shamed 
eyes  had  wandered  across  Mrs.  Conway,  who  was  contem- 
plating her  curiously  with  a  growing  suspicion  that  made 
Kate  Markoe  shrink. 

"Where?"  she  asked. 

Lamballe  mentioned  the  name  of  the  hospital  to  which 
Conway  had  been  conveyed. 

The  Ambassadress  turned  even  paler,  if  that  had  been 
possible.  She  walked  swiftly  across  the  room  and  pulled 
a  tapestried  bell-strap. 

' '  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?' ' 

The  imperious  question  was  Mrs.  Conway' s. 

"The  only  thing.  I  am  going  to  Paris  by  the  next 
train  to  nurse  Jack. ' ' 

' '  That  is  my  office. ' ' 

' '  As  you  will.  We  will  go  together.  When  is  the 
next  train  ?' '  to  Lamballe. 

"  There  is  one  in  another  half  hour." 

But  as  they  sped  on  their  way  the  two  women  confronted 
each  other,  for  the  first  time,  with  a  warring  question  be- 
tween them. 

Lamballe,  his  arms  folded,  silently  watched  the  flying 
landscape,  moon-kissed  and  finally  dawn-chilled,  as  they 
steamed  towards  the  Gare  de  Lyons.  The  silence  was 
broken  by  Mrs.  Conway,  five  minutes  before  they  drew 
into  the  station. 

1 '  Kate,  you  are  like  my  own  child.  Tell  me  :  did  you 
know  of  this?" 

"Why  do  you  ask?" 

"I  have  so  often  wondered  why  you  took  it  all  so  to 
heart.  Your  inexplicable  absences ;  your  morbid  sense, 

296 


A  RADICAL  DEVELOPMENT 

expressed  so  strangely  every  now  and  then,   of  having 
been  the  unwitting  cause  of  my  pain." 

The  frozen,  miserable  face,  with  its  sombre  eyes,  turned 
towards  its  questioner.  It  scorned  to  deny. 

"I  strove,"  whispered  the  poor  woman,  almost  deliri- 
ously, ' '  to  reverse  the  will  of  God.  This  is  my  just  pun- 
ishment. ' ' 

' '  You  knew  then  of — Mariotti  ?' '  persistently. 

Now  the  eyes  looked  straight  into  Madeleine  Conway's. 
The  Ambassadress  had  ignored  Lamballe  ever  since  he  had 
voiced  the  truth.  He  seemed  part  and  parcel  to  her,  at 
this  brutal  moment,  of  the  cruelest  misconception  of 
modern  times. 

"I  have  known,"  said  the  hard,  dull  voice,  resolve  to 
be  just  in  every  shade  of  its  utterance,  ' '  that  Mariotti,  and 
Mariotti  alone,  according  to  his  own  story,  knew  of  Jack's 
whereabouts.  How?  Why?  The  time  is  too  short  to 
tell.  I  came  upon  the  fact,  seeking  blindly  to  help.  I 
thought  in  paying  Mariotti,  I  was  expediting  his  promise 
to  deliver  Jack  into  our  hands.  He  told  me  if  I  spoke,  or 
mentioned  our  secret  to  any  one,  his  prey  would  escape 
him.  I  thought  I  was  saving  Jack  by  aiding  Mariotti. 
But  this," — with  a  dry  sob, — "do  you  know  what  this 
means  ?  It  means  that  I  am  a  murderess  !' ' 

Mrs.  Conway  made  one  involuntary  gesture  of  horror. 

Then,  with  a  visible  strong  determination  to  punish  her- 
self for  such  an  unsympathetic  delinquency,  she  immedi- 
ately clasped  one  arm  about  the  slender,  rigid  shoulder  at 
her  side. 

"How  you  must  have  suffered  !"  she  said,  gently,  still 
in  a  slightly  puzzled  fashion.  In  her  outspoken  expression 
of  forgiveness  she  slew  what  she  considered  an  unworthy 
suspicion,  and  coerced  loyalty  at  one  breath,  the  way  fine 
women  do. 

297 


A    NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

"  If  you  pity  me  I  shall  die  !"  returned  Kate,  fiercely. 

But  her  shoulder  had  yielded  to  the  arm  which  lay 
around  it  as  men's  tongues  curl  about  proffered  moisture, 
when,  dying  of  thirst,  their  wants  are  ministered  unto. 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII 

THE   REVERSE   OF   THE   MEDAL 

KATE  MARKOE  was  spared  a  confrontation  with  the  man 
whose  search  she  had  endeavored  so  vainly  to  facilitate 
during  those  fourteen  agonized  weeks  of  suspense. 

When  the  three  travellers  arrived  at  the  hospital  they 
were  informed  that  the  Ambassador  had  returned  to  his 
home  an  hour  before.  After  installing  his  helpless  friend 
in  the  sunniest,  most  spacious  of  wards,  and  providing  him 
with  two  Sisters  of  Mercy  to  administer  to  his  wants,  in 
obedience  to  the  orders  of  a  famous  practitioner,  who  was 
king  of  this  complicated  realm,  he  had  withdrawn. 

Mrs.  Conway  was  assured  that  the  patient  could  not  do 
more  wisely  than  to  remain  for  a  week  at  least  where  he  was, 
if  he  lived.  She  was  informed  that  everything  that  science 
could  do  would  be  brought  to  bear  upon  her  son's  case. 

On  receipt  of  this  reasonable  information,  Jack's  mother 
set  to  work  to  organize  matters.  She  peremptorily  for- 
bade Mrs.  Markoe  to  do  anything  more  formidable  than  to 
betake  herself  home  and  put  herself  to  bed. 

"You  look  like  a  ghost,"  exclaimed  the  sad  woman  who 
thus  advised.  "  It  is  my  portion  to  remain  here,  and  fight 
for  Jack's  life.  They  shall  not  deny  that  privilege  to  his 
own  mother." 

And  they  did  not.  One  glance  at  the  determined  femi- 

298 


THE   REVERSE  OF  THE  MEDAL 

nine  personage,  with  the  vivid  lips  and  cheeks,  convinced 
the  hospital  attendants  that  Conway's  chances  of  recovery 
would  be  increased  doublefold  did  his  mother  place  her- 
self at  the  helm.  Mrs.  Conway's  courage  had  risen  to  the 
occasion,  eloquent  of  that  grasp  of  emergency  which,  for 
centuries,  has  declared  itself  to  be  intrinsically  of  woman- 
kind. 

Superiority  walks  in  unaffectedly  and  takes  its  place,  not 
waiting  to  write  volumes  upon  duty,  or  harangue  multi- 
tudes concerning  the  higher  life. 

As  Lamballe  and  Mrs.  Markoe  drove  to  the  Avenue 
Marceau,  she  gave  a  few  orders  to  her  quondam  host  in 
regard  to  some  wearing  apparel  she  had  left  strewn  about 
her  luxurious  apartments  in  her  preparations  for  a  hurried 
departure  from  Carembourg.  She  added  that  she  would 
be  grateful  did  Lamballe,  upon  his  return  there,  send  her 
maid  home  with  her  trunks,  as  she  intended  to  remain  in 
Paris. 

Lamballe  resignedly  acquiesced,  after  having  expressed 
his  regret  that  their  little  party  should  have  been  so  ruth- 
lessly broken  up.  ' '  Let  us  hope  for  the  best,  dear 
madame,"  he  urged,  earnestly.  "  Conway  has  youth  on 
his  side,  and  an  unimpaired  constitution." 

But  all  his  kind  efforts  to  insure  his  companion's  peace 
of  mind  were  futile.  The  lines  of  the  fair,  frozen  face  at 
his  side  remained  fixed  and  white.  The  shamed  look  of 
guilt  increased  minute  by  minute.  With  it  there  had  come 
a  shrinking  mental  dread,  which  fortified  as  they  stopped 
before  the  Embassy.  As  she  descended,  the  delicate 
curves  of  Kate  Markoe' s  lips  straightened  into  a  hard  line. 
It  was  evident  she  was  about  to  confront  a  far  more  com- 
plicated problem  than  might  be  comprised  either  in  the 
case  of  the  helpless  invalid  at  the  hospital,  or  her  own  con- 
science. 

299 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

To  explain  her  conduct  to  the  Ambassador,  she  had  by 
this  come  to  consider  the  only  just  manner  of  taking  the 
consequences  of  her  own  so  sadly  proven  deficient  policy 
to  aid. 

Even  now  she  could  picture  the  level  look  which  would 
greet  her,  the  total  lack  of  responsiveness,  the  cold  weigh- 
ing of  her  inexplicable  act.  The  colorless  eyes  with  their 
expression  of  neutrality,  the  listening  attitude  which  did 
not  commit  itself,  the  polite  attentiveness  which  promised 
nothing,  were  part  and  parcel  of  her  righteous  judge.  She 
had  determined  that  Conway  must  be  shielded  at  all  costs. 
He  had  suffered  enough.  If  his  death  followed,  and  she 
were  responsible  for  it,  there  must  be  no  blot  left  to  mar 
the  purity  of  his  professed  intention.  She  and  she  alone, 
out  of  her  feminine  intuition,  had  surprised  the  unwhole- 
some truth  that  his  quixoticism  had  been  but  the  comple- 
ment of  his  direst  weakness.  As  Kate  Markoe  thought 
out  the  entire  miserable  occurrence,  she  deplored  it  as  an 
unfortunate  circumstance  as  well  as  a  lamentable  contrariety 
— unpossessed  of  either  healthy  germ,  or  explanatory  sub- 
stance. Latterly,  the  enormity  of  her  own  vanity  had  im- 
pressed her  deeply.  It  stood  forth  stripped  of  anything 
but  deplorable  weakness.  It  stung  her  highly-polished 
sense  of  the  fitness  of  things.  Her  love  of  admiration,  her 
heart-hunger,  had  never  pre-imagined,  as  the  result  of 
their  excessiveness,  so  unpalatable  a  sequence  as  Conway' s 
deceit. 

Jack  had  always  seemed  very  young  to  her.  Albeit  but 
two  or  three  years  his  senior,  she  had  honestly  experienced 
a  maternal  interest  in  the  young  fellow.  His  enthusiasms 
aroused  her  ;  his  outspoken  idealization  of  herself  flattered 
her  ;  his  final  disclosure  of  intemperance  she  fought  off 
with  all  her  woman's  wit.  The  sudden  flame  of  passion 
which  had  betrayed  him  was  an  unpleasant  revelation  to 

300 


THE   REVERSE  OF  THE  MEDAL 

her,  the  inconsequent  cause  of  it.  Only  after  its  disclosure 
had  she  come  into  the  positive  realization  of  his  translation 
of  her  invariable  kindness.  Then,  womanlike,  she  strove 
to  instantaneously  undo  what  she  had  been  instrumental  in 
exciting  ;  reprehensibly  ;  in  idleness.  The  brief  instant  in 
which  she  had  fought  out  loyally  in  all  honor,  and  self- 
acknowledgment  of  weakness,  her  woman's  part  to  slay 
everything  responsive  in  her,  she  considered  but  her  just 
portion.  Principle  was  the  keystone  of  her  nature.  She 
had  been  level-headed  enough  to  recognize  that  principle 
must  guide  her  more  than  ever,  when  in  a  moment  of  sheer 
weariness  Conway  might  have  believed  she  loved  him. 

In  her  innermost  soul  Kate  Markoe,  no  matter  how  fully 
she  appreciated  her  success  in  every  other  sphere  where 
the  world's  acclamation  warranted  her  conscious  pride  that 
she  was  beautiful  and  desirable,  never  for  an  instant  lost 
sight  of  the  bitter  fact  that  she  represented  the  weakest 
ingredient  in  her  husband's  make-up.  The  knowledge 
saddened  her  ;  it  seared  the  edge  of  all  her  momentary 
joys  ;  it  was  the  canker-worm  at  the  root  of  her  evanes- 
cent indiscretions.  Now,  with  the  conviction  that  she 
was  nothing  to  the  Ambassador,  it  was  coming  upon  her 
that,  through  her  evident  lack  of  judgment,  her  behavior 
would  justly  warrant  his  complete  aversion. 

This  was  the  thought  which  for  the  past  few  tortured  hours 
had  been  making  of  her  a  thing  of  pallid  clay.  It  was 
the  state  which  to-day,  in  view  of  recent  disclosures,  she 
was  certain  was  to  be  her  perpetual  portion.  She  knew 
that  she  had,  to  the  best  of  her  ability,  fought  off  a  very 
genuine  reality,  disclaimed  it,  and  turned  Conway  back 
into  the  groove  of  his  past  moderation.  But  this  her  hus- 
band would  never  learn.  Even  if  it  had  been  possible  for 
him  to  understand,  she  felt  herself  incapable  of  finding 
words  to  describe  to  him  her  suspicion,  and  later  the 

301 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

knowledge  that  all  was  not  well  with  his  trusted  advocate. 
In  that  memorable  interview  in  the  conservatory,  the  con- 
viction of  Conway' s  miserable  reach-out  for  dishonor, 
which  had  so  shocked  her,  while  at  the  same  time  she  in- 
sisted to  herself  loyally  Conway  had  not  taken  into  ade- 
quate consideration  its  lurid  and  unfair  import,  when, 
swept  off  his  feet  by  an 'unbridled  impulse,  he  had  betrayed 
his  most  desperate  and  unholy  desire,  she  blamed  herself 
far  more  than  the  boy  she  had  infatuated. 

But  alongside  her  generous  mercifulness  for  Conway, 
she  pitted  Markoe  :  upright,  inflexible,  just ;  a  man  among 
men  ;  a  master  of  common-sense  ;  an  expert  as  regarded 
integrity.  He  had  never  seemed  to  her  so  entirely  to  be 
respected  as  he  did  now.  There  was  a  simplicity  about  his 
direct  methods  which  began  to  attract  her  oddly.  What 
had  seemed  colorless  before,  now  took  on  the  true  blue  of 
concentrated  strength.  His  very  neutrality  seemed  honor  ; 
that  honor  which  stands  alone,  unobtrusively,  regardless 
of  the  warring  elements  about  it.  Above  all,  she  was  proud 
of  him,  and  mutual  pride  in  one  another  is  the  fundamental 
principle  which  holds  man  and  woman  yoked  together  in 
peace  and  probity.  Her  sense  of  unworthiness  increased 
minute  by  minute.  It  made  her  almost  cry  out. 

She  began  to  experience  a  wholesome  sense  of  indigna- 
tion towards  Conway,  who  had  already  made  her  suffer  so 
much  for  so  little.  He  was  weak.  Her  husband — how  she 
gloried  in  the  conviction — was  strong.  Conway  was  vola- 
tile. Markoe  stood  a  rock  of  mental  balance,  by  this 
faculty  alone  having  out-distanced  many  of  his  contempo- 
raries. Until  this  racking  hour  she  had  never  looked  ahead 
far  enough  to  imagine  what  her  mortification  might  be  were 
he  not  equally  proud  of  her. 

Five  minutes  after  Lamballe  had  quitted  her  at  her  own 
door,  and  driven  towards  his  club  for  breakfast  and  a  bath, 

302 


THE   REVERSE   OF  THE   MEDAL 

Mrs.  Markoe  slowly  made  her  way  along  the  corridor 
opposite  her  own  apartment,  and  knocked  at  the  door  of 
her  husband's  bedroom.  Receiving  no  answer,  she  en- 
tered. The  room  was  vacant.  The  bed  had  not  been 
occupied.  She  returned  to  her  own  bedchamber  a  little 
feebly.  Loss  of  sleep  and  food  made  her  light-headed. 
The  task  she  had  before  her  appalled  even  her  courageous 
spirit.  She  threw  off  her  hat  and  cloak.  Then — a  tall, 
slim  figure,  clad  in  costly  garments,  her  anxious  face 
framed  in  a  toss  of  dishevelled  hair  :  a  face  which  told  a 
sad  story  of  misery  and  sleeplessness — she  hesitatingly 
walked  towards  her  husband's  study.  He  kept  up  his 
writing  half  the  night  there,  and  sometimes  all  through  the 
day. 

The  room  felt  atmospherically  delicious  to  her,  after  a 
night  spent  in  the  railway  carriage  in  a  cramped  position. 
She  completely  lost  sight  of  her  own  feelings,  however, 
when  her  glance  took  in  her  husband's  face.  There  were 
lines  about  his  handsome  compressed  mouth  which  she  had 
never  seen  before.  She  caught  her  breath.  He  was 
seated  in  an  arm-chair  he  had  brought  with  him  from 
America  ;  it  stood  before  a  glowing  fire.  He  seemed  to 
have  been  reclining  for  hours  in  the  relaxed  position  in 
which  she  had  surprised  him,  although  that  could  not 
have  been  according  to  the  information  which  she  had 
received  at  the  hospital  about  him. 

As  she  came  forward,  he  rose  and  pushed  his  chair 
towards  her. 

' '  You  arrived  by  the  midnight  train  ?' ' 

He  had  evidently  made  a  lightning  calculation  between 
the  time  her  light  tap  had  aroused  him,  and  she  had  made 
her  presence  manifest. 

"Yes,"  she  affirmed. 

After  that  first  glance  she  had  not  raised  her  eyes 

3°3 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

towards  him.  How  should  she  face  his  trenchant  condem- 
nation of  her  too  quixotic  act?  She  saw  it  now  as  he 
must  have  seen  it  all  along,  powerless  to  evade  its  conse- 
quences through  her  foolishness.  Oh,  why  had  her  weak- 
ness demanded  so  cruel  a  development  to  bring  her  to  her 
senses  ? 

¥¥ 

CHAPTER  XXXIX 

THE  AMBASSADRESS'S  STORY 

"STEPHEN,  I  have  come  to  tell  you  something,"  she 
began,  quietly.  She  seated  herself,  and  drew  up  to  the 
fire.  Crouched  forward,  looking  into  it  intently,  conscious 
of  the  dread  pallor  of  her  face,  hoping  the  flames  might 
burn  some  color  into  her  cold  cheeks,  she  paused. 

The  Ambassador  did  not  stir. 

She  half-turned  towards  him.  He  was  standing  when 
she  first  commenced  to  speak.  After  a  little,  he  walked 
towards  an  upright  chair  which  stood  near  the  mantel- 
piece, and,  letting  his  head  droop,  looked  into  the  flames. 
Thus,  avoiding  each  other's  gaze,  they  strove  to  patch  up 
what  she  had  so  ruthlessly  striven  to  destroy. 

"Once,"  she  said,  very  humbly,  "I  thought  you  gov- 
erned my  actions  too  narrowly.  I  was  wrong.  You  had 
lived,  and  suffered  more  than  I.  You  knew. ' ' 

The  Ambassador  lifted  his  hand  involuntarily,  and 
shelved  it  across  his  eyes. 

"Perhaps,"  she  faltered,  "I  should  have  obeyed  im- 
plicitly. I  might  have  done  so  had  you  been  a  little  more 
gentle  with  me  ;  but  I  have  often  thought  you  could  not 
know  what  it  was  to  be  commanded  to  obey,  without  any 
reason  given  why  one  should  not  act  according  to  one's 

304 


THE  AMBASSADRESS'S  STORY 

heart's  dictation.  Recently  I  have,  as  regards  Jack's  case, 
taken  the  reins  into  my  own  hands.  I  have  come  now  to 
tell  you  that  you  have  been  right  always,  and  that  I  have 
been  wrong.  The  terrible  result  of  our  mission — for,  which- 
ever way  it  ends,  you  and  I  cannot  consider  it  anything 
but  unsuccessful  if  Jack' s  life  or  reason  pay  the  price  for  it — 
lies  all  with  me." 

She  paused,  and  beat  her  hands  together  for  a  moment, 
almost  frantically.  She  tried  to  dry  the  tears  which  were 
falling  fast  from  her  wide  eyes,  but  they  flowed  faster  as 
she  spoke. 

"  If  there  is  any  penalty  I  can  pay,"  she  said,  "  I  will 
pay  it.  If  there  is  any  ache  you  feel  that  I  can  assuage,  I 
will  try  to  assuage  it.  No  matter  what  you  can  say,  I 
know,  however,  that  I  have  been  instrumental  in  facilita- 
ting your  deepest  mortification." 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  The  Ambassador  had  neither 
refuted  nor  agreed. 

She  knew  herself  abjectly  feeling  out  mentally  to  learn 
whether  or  no  he  met  her  avowal  half-way.  There  was  no 
evidence  that  he  even  heard  her.  His  handsome  hand — 
strong,  well-formed,  a  hand  whose  warm,  firm  grasp  she 
knew  could  insure  protection  and  a  restful  sense  of  the 
most  generous  helpfulness — remained  motionless,  scooped 
above  his  brows.  His  figure  might  in  its  intense  rigidity 
have  revealed  to  a  disinterested  observer  the  fact  that 
every  nerve  was  strained  to  its  utmost  to  absorb  her  faintest 
whisper.  But  this  she  did  not  understand  him  well  enough 
to  realize.  She  only  felt  an  increasing  sensation  of  deso- 
lation assailing  her  proud  spirit,  inch  by  inch,  as  she  let 
forth  her  confession. 

She  continued,  one  hand  doubled  fiercely  in  a  hard  knot 
under  the  woollen  fringe  about  the  chair,  the  other  twisting 
in  and  out  her  wisp  of  a  pocket  handkerchief,  wet  with 
20  305 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

tears,  which  now  had  suddenly  ceased  to  flow,  her  eyes  a 
little  hard,  her  face  flushed  feverishly,  her  lips  now  and 
then  bitterly  compressed. 

"The  night  of  the  Launoy  ball,  you  will  remember,  I 
asked  you  to  accompany  me.  You  refused.  I  think  I 
speak  correctly  when  I  state  that  the  reason  you  advanced 
for  your  refusal  was  that  you  wished  to  read  some  news 
which  your  eyes  had  missed  until  then.  You  had  before 
you  a  full  account,  in  a  home  newspaper,  which  had  arrived 
that  afternoon.  The  incident  has,  without  doubt,  escaped 
you." 

Still  he  was  silent.  He  saw — oh,  memory,  how  bitter  and 
yet  how  sweet ! — a  figure  attired  as  Folly,  a  dimpled  arm 
lifted  above  a  sunny,  curl-tossed  head  on  which  was  fast- 
ened a  tiny  tri-colored  cap,  glittering  with  jewels  and 
clattering  with  bells.  He  was  fastening  the  clasp  of  a  mask 
against  the  warm  nape  of  a  creamy  neck.  He  drew  a  deep 
breath.  The  curls  fell  ;  the  mask  clicked  into  place. 
"That  will  do,"  had  come  a  petulant  child's  voice  ;  and 
he  had  given  an  hour  of  his  life  had  she  inclined  towards 
him  ! 

"  I  went  to  the  ball  that  night  prepared  to  enjoy  my- 
self," with  a  faint  echo  of  past  defiance  which  seemed, 
even  to  its  propounder,  in  this  moment  which  throbbed 
with  acute  misery,  infantine  in  its  flaunting  effort  to  be  non- 
chalant. ' '  Why  not  ?  You  had  your  newspaper  ;  I  liked 
to  dance.  We  both  had  our  way  ;  we  were  quits.  I  have 
heard  from  some  very  clever  people  that  matrimony  con- 
ducted from  so  exalted  a  stand-point  installs  invariable 
felicity,  and  the  ultimate  content  of  both  parties. ' ' 

He  began  pacing  the  floor  heavily.  The  chandelier  rat- 
tled a  little,  and  then  stopped,  as  he  passed  under  it.  His 
hands  were  clasped  behind  his  back,  under  his  coat-tails  ; 
his  eyes  looked  out  ahead,  sombrely. 

306 


THE  AMBASSADRESS'S  STORY 

' '  Imagine  my  surprise,  when  Mariotti  and  his  double 
arrived,  the  second  Mariotti,  the  harlequin  who  saluted 
Monsieur  Lamballe  en  Mariotti  on  the  landing  of  the  stair- 
case, where  Mrs.  Conway  and  I  agreed  to  meet,  turned  out 
to  be  Jack  !" 

The  Ambassador  arrested  his  steps.  He  stood  directly 
under  the  chandelier,  his  mild  regard  addressed  steadily 
towards  his  wife.  Her  face  was  turned  away  from  him. 
She  was  apparently  dragging  her  story  out  of  the  flames 
ahead  of  her. 

' '  He  asked  me,  after  he  had  made  himself  known  to 
me,  to  go  into  the  conservatory  with  him,  as  he  had  some- 
thing of  importance  to  communicate.  Naturally,  I  was  so 
astonished  at  the  contretemps,  so  curious  to  know  what 
had  impelled  him  to  take  such  a  queer  step,  that  I  ac- 
quiesced. Once  there,  he  said  he  had  come  to  Paris  to 
find  out  whether  or  no  Monsieur  Lamballe  was  in  town  or 
at  Carembourg.  If  he  could  prove  Lamballe  in  Paris,  he 
intended  returning  to  Carembourg  to  pursue  his  survey  un- 
molested. It  seemed  to  me — I  told  him  so — a  long  way 
to  come  in  order  to  establish  so  apparently  insignificant  a 
detail.  He  assured  me  everything  depended  upon  it ;  that 
Lam  ball  e's  certain  presence  in  Paris  would  afford  him 
ample  leeway  to  ascertain  whether  or  no  the  stratum  ex- 
tended across  the  border.  Immediately  after  this  he  bade 
me  farewell  and  returned,  as  I  supposed,  to  Carembourg. ' ' 

She  stopped  and  swallowed  something  spasmodically  in 
her  throat.  Markoe  still  looked  at  her  intently.  A  coil 
of  hair  had  loosened  ;  it  fell  along  her  black  dress  to  her 
knees.  It  was  singularly  soft  and  fine,  he  was  thinking 
irrelevantly,  when  she  interrupted  his  reflections. 

"I  attached  no  special  importance  to  his  coming,  until 
you  informed  me  that  he  had  mysteriously  disappeared. 
Then  I  put  two  and  two  together.  I  concluded  Mariotti 

3°7 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

must  have  been  aware  of  his  presence  in  Paris,  else  where 
had  Jack  obtained  the  clown's  costume?  I  secured 
Mariotti's  address.  I  sought  him  out.  He  swore  at  our 
first  interview  that,  with  the  exception  of  the  night  of  the 
ball  when  Jack  had  come  to  him  and  purloined  his  cos- 
tume, he  had  not  seen  him.  I  made  my  most  egregious 
mistake  in  remunerating  him  for  this  information.  Ulti- 
mately he  wrote  me,  requesting  another  interview.  I  ac- 
corded it.  This  time  he  informed  me  that  he  knew  of  Jack's 
whereabouts,  but  that  he  had  not  the  power  to  extricate 
him  from  a  vile  prison,  in  which  he  was  incarcerated  by  some 
mysterious  third  party,  unless  I  would  advance  him  a  sum 
of  money  with  which  to  bribe  the  third  party.  I  advanced 
it ;  at  first  in  small  sums,  later  in  larger  ones  as  he  demanded 
it,  vowing  all  the  while  that  Jack's  jailers  were  more  and 
more  exorbitant  in  their  demands,  and  less  and  less  desirous 
of  releasing  so  desirable  a  prey.  All  along  I  kept  the  fact 
from  you,  because  I  feared  that  if  you  knew  Jack  had  come  up 
to  Paris,  you  might  consider  he  had  been  guilty  of  neglect- 
ing what  you  so  seriously  intended  to  overcome  ;  besides,  I 
began  to  dread  your  anger  because  I  had  not  confided  in 
you  in  the  first  place.  Mariotti  had  sworn  me  to  secrecy. 
You  were  occupied.  I  had  learned  not  to  beg  for  what 
was  mine  by  right." 

"  Meaning?"  Markoe's  voice  was  purely  interrogatory. 

"  Meaning  your  undivided  attention,  which,  I  think  you 
must  admit,  is  not  always  extended  to  my  '  caprices.'  ' 

There  was  a  dull  pause.     She  continued. 

"  But  afterwards  when,  week  by  week,  he  extorted  from 
me  funds  which  you  were  so  confidently  handing  over  to 
me,  believing  they  paid  for  my  personal  needs,  I  felt  like  a 
thief  and  a  hypocrite.  It  was  too  late  to  recede.  Mariotti 
now  threatened  that  if  I  betrayed  him,  Jack  would  suffer 
the  consequences.  If  it  took  all  day,"  she  interrupted 

308 


THE  AMBASSADRESS'S  STORY 

herself  passionately,  "  I  could  not  express  to  you  my  utter 
self-disgust  in  the  entire  business.  I  loathed  Mariotti ;  I 
was  in  his  toils.  When  last  night  Monsieur  Lamballe  in- 
formed me  that  indirectly  I  had  been  the  instrumental 
cause  in  torturing  Jack  to  death,  I  determined  to  tell  you 
the  truth,  and  ask  you  to  let  me  go." 

She  had  risen  now.  The  two  velvet  bruises  under  her 
great  eyes  were  more  than  ever  apparent.  The  slender 
outlines  of  her  figure,  which  had  been  so  delicious  once, 
now  seemed  straight  and  formless. 

"You  wish  to  travel?"  inquired  the  Ambassador,  per- 
functorily. 

' '  I  cannot  bear ' '  she  faltered,  her  head  had  fallen  for- 
ward onto  her  breast,  her  eyes  were  bent  upon  the  carpet  at 
her  feet.  ' '  I  wish  to  get  away  from  under  the  burden  of 
your  contempt. ' ' 

"But " 

1 '  I  cannot  bear  it, ' '  she  cried,  impetuously,  the  tears 
streaming  down  her  cheeks  now  undisguisedly.  She  be- 
gan to  walk  to  and  fro  hurriedly.  ' '  The  situation  has 
always  been  odious  to  me.  It  is  more  than  ever  so  now. 
It  has  been  unsupportable  enough  to  live  alongside  of  a 
man  who  is  made  of  iron,  or  of  stone,  but  to  know  the 
graven  image  despises  me,  to  know  he  blames  me,  to  know 
that  what  was  once  mine  of  respect  and  gentlest  care  no 
longer  exists.  Oh,  no — no, ' '  brokenly,  "it  is  beyond  my 
strength. ' ' 

She  stopped. 

His  regard  was  luminous.  Almost,  in  a  single  flashing 
glance  she  had  bestowed  upon  him,  it  seemed  to  her  his 
lips  had  moved  in  prayer.  She  looked  again  involuntarily, 
but  he  had  turned  abruptly  towards  a  window.  He  let  the 
shade  slide  up  to  the  top  with  a  startling  rattle  as  he  spoke. 

' '  You  must  remain, ' '  he  said. 

309 


She  started  violently,  aggressively.  He  continued  with 
uncompromising  firmness,  the  underlying  force  in  his  tone 
crushing  her  mad  intention  to  atoms,  so  coolly  was  it 
fraught  with  common-sense. 

' '  Given  the  fact  that  I  deplore  your  action,  we  are  none 
the  less  man  and  wife.  Married  persons  are  united  for 
better  and  for  worse.  Had  I  committed  the  fault  you 
plead  guilty  of,  would  you  for  that  cause  alone  have  sent 
me  from  you  ?' ' 

' '  No — no. ' '  The  negative  rang  out  without  one  instant' s 
hesitation. 

He  turned  towards  her,  in  response  to  it,  with  that  beau- 
tiful, luminous  look,  which  she  never  remembered  to  have 
seen  light  up  his  face  before,  brilliantly  apparent.  ' '  I  think, ' ' 
he  said,  ' '  that  if  you  had  considered  the  gravity  of  your  pro- 
jected departure,  you  would  have  decided  less  hastily. 
You  will " 

"  But  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  marriage — our  union." 

1 '  Why  so  ?' '  imperiously. 

"  It  is  so  utterly  inept" 

A  shadow  crossed  his  face.  "I  ask  you,"  he  said, 
clearly  and  very  distinctly,  ' '  to  remain  with  me  until  Con- 
way's  recovery,  or  death,  at  least." 

1 '  And  then  ?' '  The  question  leaped  from  her,  almost 
without  her  volition. 

"  If  Conway  recovers  I  will  ask  him  for  his  story." 

"Until  then?" 

"  Until  then  I  will  trust  him." 

"  But  if  he  dies  ?"     The  inquiry  was  choked. 

Markoe  rose  to  answer  a  summons  at  the  door.  ' '  In 
that  case,"  he  said,  "you  will  tell  me  the  remainder  of 
our  story. ' ' 


310 


JACK'S  STORY 

CHAPTER  XL 

JACK'S  STORY 

Six  months  later,  when  the  lilacs  were  in  bloom,  Con- 
way's  abused  intellect  drifted  back  slowly  into  its  own 
again.  It  had  been  a  long  pull,  arduous  for  the  anxious 
watchers  ;  trying,  and  dangerously  fluctuating  for  Mari- 
otti's  innocent  victim.  The  winter  was  damp,  gloomy, 
unattractive  as  only  Paris  winters  can  be  with  their  burden 
of  sun-deprived  days. 

Towards  spring  devout  thankfulness  spread  its  exhila- 
rating glow  in  all  their  hearts.  The  sick  man's  young  limbs 
strengthened,  and  gradually  began  to  take  on  a  semblance 
of  their  original  contour.  His  eyes  brightened,  and  re- 
flected in  faintest  measure  what  the  ears  heard,  and  com- 
municated clearly  to  the  weakened  brain. 

Listless,  indifferent,  lethargic,  the  patient  had  lain  for 
weeks  with  a  faint  wandering  smile  upon  his  vacant  face, 
sadder  than  tears.  There  had  been,  too,  a  far-away  look  in 
his  eyes  which  seemed  a  presentiment  of  extinction  :  his 
words  had  babbled  of  unknown  places,  sometimes  dreamily, 
sometimes  madly  as  he  crouched  struggling  fiercely  against 
a  hideous,  unseen  foe,  or  smiled  foolishly  up  into  an  imagi- 
nary angel  face.  Gradually  the  invalid  was  promoted 
from  liquid  to  solid  food  ;  he  was  taught  to  talk  and  to 
walk.  At  last  his  bodily  strength  increased  ;  his  medicines 
were  taken  from  him,  and  a  powerful  mental  drug  substi- 
tuted. The  watchers,  prayerful  and  on  the  alert,  saw  a 
faint  flicker  which  fortified  and  broadened,  to  finally  extin- 
guish permanently  the  vacuous  expression  which  had  made 
them  so  sick  at  heart.  The  stimulant,  which  had  been  ad- 

3" 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

ministered  as  the  final  test,  had  whipped  up  the  dormant 
mental  faculties,  and  had  roused  them  from  their  lethargy 
to  work  once  more.  They  had  only  been  dulled  into  tem- 
porary subjection,  after  all  :  not  found  wanting,  or  irre- 
trievably diseased. 

The  first  change  in  outside  events  which  Conway  re- 
corded, lying  listlessly  there  in  weak  convalescence,  taking 
note  of  his  friends'  faces  as  slowly  they  made  their  way 
out  to  him  from  the  world  of  grim  spectres,  and  miasma- 
stricken  environment,  was  that  Lamballe  seemed  now  the 
trusted  advocate,  whereas  before  he  had  played  an  egre- 
giously  unimportant  role  in  this,  their  midst.  This  fact  the 
young  fellow  accepted,  as  youth  is  wont  to  accept  such 
changes,  thoughtlessly,  as  an  improvement  upon  the  old 
prejudice.  Afterwards,  weeks  afterwards,  it  slowly  broke 
in  upon  him  that  the  cause  of  his  mother's  placid,  pecu- 
liarly sweetened  expression,  was  not  entirely  owing  to  his 
own  almost  miraculous  convalescence.  It  had,  instead, 
more  to  do  with  that  sparkling  conversationalist,  that  pur- 
poseful individual  who  filled  up  the  long  evenings  with  his 
brilliant  recounting  of  the  day's  doings,  who  kept  the  vast 
apartment  blooming  with  the  rarest  hot-house  flowers,  and 
who  peremptorily  forbade  the  stately  chatelaine  of  one  of 
the  most  agreeable  Paris- American  salons  to  do  more  than 
her  share  of  nursing. 

The  invalid  used  to  lie  with  serenely  puzzled  eyes 
and  watch  the  pair.  One  day  he  surprised  in  his  own 
fancy  the  consciousness  that  the  discordant  note  in  his 
mother's  make-up,  which  had  seemed  to  him  the  only 
false  element  in  her,  had  either  gone  to  sleep,  or  was  no 
more. 

When  he  alluded  to  this,  she  fluslied.  Then  she  knelt 
down  by  his  reclining  chair.  He  listened  quietly  while  she 
told  him  her  story.  When  she  concluded  he  turned  his 

312 


JACK'S  STORY 

face  away  for  a  moment.  Then  he  looked  back  at  her  with 
a  pair  of  feverishly  bright  eyes. 

"It  is  all  as  it  should  be,  mammy,"  he  vouchsafed, 
feebly.  "  I,  too,  have  been  planning  a  change,  as  soon  as 
the  trial  is  over.  This  illness  has  shown  me  my  uselessness. 
I  am  eager  to  test  my  strength.  I  want  to  start  out  for 
myself.  I  have  been  wondering  how  I  could  break  the 
news  of  my  intentional  departure  to  you. ' ' 

' '  You  will  go  ?' '  The  tears  stood  confessed  in  her 
startled  eyes. 

"I  will  go,"  he  confirmed,  stretching,  the  two  vertical 
lines  deepening  between  his  sombre  eyes, — the  expression 
of  his  face  was  daily  settling  into  firm  curves, — "  where  I 
can  work.  Paris  is  no  place  for  an  ambitious  American. 
He  needs  his  own  country,  his  favorite  atmosphere,  the 
competitive  impetus  of  his  fellow-men.  I  have  been  idle 
too  long.  Satan,  you  know,  might  find  mischief  for  me 
to  do." 

Then  he  came  around  to  the  subject  of  the  Ambassador. 

His  mother  had  been  holding  forth  in  exalted  terms  over 
Marguerite  de  Launoy.  She,  it  seemed,  had  surprised 
both  Mrs.  Conway's  and  Lamballe's  secret,  and  had 
ministered  unto  it  in  marvellously  adroit  fashion.  She  it 
was  who  unearthed  the  remembrance  of  proud  Madeleine 
Farragut's  meek  submission  to  her  autocratic  father's 
whims.  It  was  she  who  had  recollected  a  day  when  he, 
in  her  hearing,  had  forbidden  any  intercourse  between  his 
beautiful  daughter  and  the  then  indigent  Frenchman.  It 
was  the  Duchesse  de  Launoy  also  who  had  possessed  the 
temerity  to  imagine  that  the  letter  Lamballe  had  written 
had  never  been  received.  In  which  case,  weighted  ever 
with  this  supposition,  she  had  brought  the  two  quondam 
lovers  together,  and  witnessed  with  sympathetic  eyes  the 
confirmation  of  her  presumption  that  they  might  still  care 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

for  one  another.  Now  she  was  awaiting  with  impatience 
Conway's  recovery,  that  she  might  announce  the  coming 
nuptials  in  royal  fashion,  at  La  Valliere. 

The  Ambassador  called  daily,  Mrs.  Conway  affirmed  in 
answer  to  her  son's  inquiry.  He  had  looked  in  from  the 
first  once  a  week,  in  person,  in  search  of  a  radical  change. 
He  had  encouraged  and  sustained  them  all.  He  was  the 
same  thorough-going,  silent  force  which  they  all  welcomed, 
and  had  learned  more  and  more  to  appreciate. 

Just  here  the  invalid  inquired  abruptly  for  Mrs.  Markoe. 

"  Kate,"  replied  Mrs.  Conway, — she  was  bending  over  a 
piece  of  fancy  work  by  this  ;  her  graceful  snow-crowned 
head  stood  out  against  a  piece  of  tapestry  behind  it ;  her 
eyes  were  downcast, — "  Kate  has  been  very  ill.  We  have 
almost  been  fearful  that  she  might  not  recover.  Not  a 
serious  illness  exactly, — it  has  not  confined  her  to  her  bed,  I 
mean, — but  just  nervous,  utter  prostration,  and  listlessness. " 

' '  What  was  the  cause  of  her  illness  ?' ' 

' '  I  think  that  the  unwitting  part  she  played  in  your  un- 
fortunate experience  worried  her  extremely,"  returned 
Mrs.  Conway,  hesitatingly. 

' '  I  have  not  known. ' ' 

She  related  to  him,  softly  and  very  pitifully,  the  facts. 
He  listened  with  his  face  turned  away  from  the  light. 
When  she  had  finished  he  did  not  speak  for  a  long  time. 
Then  he  asked,  ' '  Has  she,  too,  visited  us  ?' ' 

"I  have  not  been  able  to  prevail  upon  her  to  do  so," 
answered  Mrs.  Conway.  ' '  I  have  said  all  I  dared  ; 
Stephen  has  advised  her  to  be  sensible.  She  says  that 
she  will  never  rest  until  she  has  asked  your  forgiveness. ' ' 

There  was  the  sudden  harsh  burst  of  a  brass  band  passing 
outside.  It  was  a  national  f6te  day.  Paris  was  beribboncd 
and  beflagged  from  the  Place  de  la  Concorde  to  the  Troca- 
dero  ;  from  La  Villette  to  Bellevue.  The  river  was  gay 

3*4 


JACK'S   STORY 

with  brightly  decorated  craft,  thronged  with  holiday 
seekers.  Spring  was  in  the  air,  on  the  faces  of  the  multi- 
tude which,  in  festive  array,  gorged  the  avenues,  the 
river,  and  the  by-streets.  Some  cavalry  officers  rode 
clatteringly  across  the  cobble-stones,  under  the  trees,  up 
the  bridle  path  which  stretches  from  the  Tuileries  Gardens 
to  Passy.  The  windows  were  thrown  wide.  Conway 
glanced  out ;  then  he  sighed  shortly. 

"  Will  you  tell  her,"  he  said  quietly,  after  a  long  silence, 
' '  to  come  ?  Tell  her  that  I  wish  to  see  her  because  I 
consider  that  I  have  nothing  to  forgive." 

It  was  two  days  later.  Mrs.  Conway  had  gone  to  a 
bazaar,  over  which  she  had  been  requested  to  preside  as 
patroness.  Lamballe  had  accompanied  her. 

Conway  lay  fully  dressed  on  a  lounge  by  the  window, 
listlessly  turning  the  leaves  of  a  home  magazine.  He 
heard  the  footman  say  "Monsieur  est  chez  lui.  Oui." 
He  looked  around. 

He  had  thought  his  visitor  might  be  Markoe,  or  even 
Lubin,  with  whom  the  invalid  had  struck  up  a  mutually 
admiring  acquaintance.  He  had  heard  nothing  in  answer 
to  his  own  request  regarding  the  Ambassadress.  His 
mother  had  responded  to  it  absently,  altering  her  position 
and  the  subject  of  the  conversation  peremptorily. 

Now  he  turned,  and  saw  a  slender  figure  in  a  grey  gown 
standing  motionless  in  the  embrasure  of  the  doorway, 
looking  towards  him  from  under  a  huge  grey  chip  hat 
heavily  burdened  with  white  roses. 

He  had  been  forbidden  to  rise.  Perhaps  because  of 
this,  added  to  his  heart  beating  with  a  fierce  apprehensive 
suddenness,  he  held  forth  his  hand,  as  though  to  aid  her 
to  come  towards  him. 

She  sprang  forward,  seized  it,  and  pressed  it  convulsively 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

in  both  of  hers.  Then  she  turned  abruptly  away  from 
him,  and  walked  swiftly  towards  a  far-off  window  in  another 
corner  of  the  room. 

He  remembered  dimly  that  the  last  time  he  had  seen  her 
she  had  stood — where  had  she  stood?  He  felt  an  awful 
unexpected  stab  in  a  region  of  his  anatomy  which  he  had 
forgotten.  Was  it  his  heart  or  his  head?  Then  he  re- 
marked, lightly, — 

1 '  You  have  been  long  in  coming.     Why  ?' ' 

' '  I  could  not  get  up  the  courage, ' '  she  responded, 
visibly  endeavoring  to  be  commonplace,  to  fail  most  lament- 
ably. Her  eyes,  those  long  almond-shaped  eyes,  with 
their  arched  brows,  were  fastened  upon  him.  Bit  by  bit 
they  were  taking  in  the  cadaverous  aspect  of  his  face  ;  his 
long  thin  limbs  which  she  had  known  so  shapely  and  mus- 
cular ;  the  general  pathetic  lassitude  of  his  listless  figure. 

"Am  I,  then,  so  formidable?" 

Her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  She  raised  her  hand  and 
covered  them  for  a  moment.  Then,  with  an  imperious 
gesture  as  though  scorning  her  own  weakness,  she  drew 
up  a  chair  and  looked  into  his  face. 

"I  want  to  tell  you  why  I  did  it,"  she  said,  impulsively, 
' '  what  inspired  me. ' ' 

"Suppose  we  let  it  drop,"  he  suggested,  oddly  fearful 
that  she  might  open  his  wound.  It  had  only  been  slum- 
bering after  all,  he  was  cogitating  fearfully.  Any  little 
accident  might  bring  it  to  life  ;  and  such  life  !  Such  a 
throbbing,  impotent,  insurmountable  thing  ;  hopeless  ;  ever 
self-denying  ;  silent.  For  then  and  there,  with  weakness 
palpable  assailing  him  in  every  member,  he  had  determined 
now  and  evermore  to  be  dumb  concerning  his  chief  ill. 
He  knew  what  seems  dead  is  often  considered  evidence  of 
a  past  as  much  as  a  present  non-existence. 

She  had  cast  one  puzzled  glance  at  him.     Then  she  said, 


JACK'S   STORY 

very  clearly  and  slowly,  "You  must  allow  me  to  cure 
myself  in  my  own  way." 

"Do  so." 

' '  I  thought, ' '  she  explained,  ' '  that  when  you  left  me 
that  night  you  were  in  a  desperate  mood.  Oh,  of  course, 
purely  imaginary,  but  a  little  desperate.  The  next  day 
events  fell  into  their  customary  groove,  and  the  thought 
was  crowded  out.  It  was  only  when  I  was  informed  that 
you  had  so  mysteriously  disappeared  that  I  suddenly  re- 
membered what  you  had  said.  Do  you  remember  ?  You 
said  '  Good-bye  forever. '  ' 

Her  gaze  was  wide,  strained,  fearful. 

Again  he  held  out  his  hand  with  that  helpful  gesture. 

"  How  little  you  know  me  and  my  exaggerated  manner 
of  talk,"  he  said,  lightly.  "Those  words  were  merely  a 
form  of  expression  prompted  by  the  intrigue  and  masked 
batteries  of  the  night.  I  intended  seeing  you  in  a  week, 
possibly  at  one  of  your  teas,  surrounded  by  your  satel- 
lites." 

He  lay  gazing  at  her  brightly,  not  an  ounce  of  anything 
but  a  slightly  deprecatory  rebuke  in  his  look. 

"  You  did  not  mean  it,  then?" 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Markoe,  if  men  of  my  character  were 
made  responsible  for  all  their  words,  the  Bourbons  would 
be  reigning  in  Paris  to-day." 

She  looked  at  him  searchingly. 

"I  am  grateful,"  she  vouchsafed  finally,  very  softly, 
with  a  long  breath.  ' '  I  wish  I  had  known  before,  though. 
It  would  have  saved  us  both  so  much." 

He  did  not  answer  this.  He  had  turned  his  glance 
away.  He  was  gazing  absently  at  a  cortege  of  slender 
little  maidens,  clad  mistily  in  their  first  communion  robes, 
who  passed  his  window  and  vanished  hazily. 

"With  this  conviction,"  her  voice  went  on,    "when  I 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

made  up  my  mind  that  Mariotti  knew  of  your  whereabouts, 
I  determined  to  frustrate  your  efforts  to  make  way  with 
yourself. ' ' 

He  looked  straight  up  at  her  and  smiled. 

"I  think,"  he  said,  "that  you  might  have  given  me 
credit  for  more  balance. ' ' 

' '  No, ' '  she  returned,  instantly,  and  if  the  slight  dejec- 
tion contained  in  her  tone  signified  that  her  vanity  had 
received  a  mortal  sting,  he  rejoiced  over  it — for  her  sake. 
' '  The  one  thing  I  never  gave  you  credit  for  was  balance. 
You  were  romantic,  delightful,  suggestive.  Stephen  has 
balance.  I  never  knew,  until  lately,  how  thoroughly  he 
outpaced  most  people  in  that  seemingly  simple  quality. ' ' 

' '  Stephen  scores  then,  as  always  ?' '  with  an  air  of  laugh- 
ing resignation. 

She  bit  her  lip. 

"And  he  deserves  it,"  the  invalid  hastened  to  subjoin, 
heartily. 

A  little  warm  glow  crept  up  into  Kate  Markoe's  delicate 
cheeks. 

"I  always  told  you  that,"  she  affirmed,  proudly,  "if 
you  remember,  from  the  first.  But  won' t  you  tell  me  what 
befell  you  that  night ;  how  Mariotti  got  you  into  his 
clutches  ?' ' 

He  hesitated  a  few  moments.  He  remembered  having 
hurled  himself  from  her  contemptuous  sight,  reckless  of 
coming  events,  intent  upon  one  scheme  ;  to  beat  away  for- 
ever from  his  scarred  memory  the  sight  of  her  haughty, 
scornful,  beloved  face.  As  he  had  run  into  the  street, 
madly  unmindful  of  his  whereabouts,  something  had  struck 
him  from  behind  ;  it  thickened  his  thoughts  and  paralyzed 
his  energies.  He  had  struck  out  for  help,  mouthing  a 
prayer  inwardly  that- this  might  be  the  end  of  all  things  for 
him  physically  as  much  as  morally.  Perhaps  that  weak 


JACK'S   STORY 

lean  of  his  spirit  towards  the  unknown  had  been  the 
feature  in  his  defence  which  had  played  him  into  the  hands 
of  his  enemies.  They  had  seemed  to  him  a  small  multi- 
tude standing  there  in  the  dark  corner  of  the  ruelle,  back 
of  the  Launoy  residence,  crossing  towards  the  main 
avenues.  The  blows  had  descended  thick  and  fast.  He  had 
fought  desperately,  with  his  arms  and  fists,  conscious  that 
he  was  outnumbered  ;  aware,  too,  of  an  intense  lethargy 
of  spirit.  Then  he  had  melted  into  a  space  where,  ulti- 
mately, from  oblivion,  he  had  awakened  to  confront 
mildewed  walls,  a  horrid,  vindictive,  olive-skinned  face, 
what  seemed  years  of  maze-like  effort  to  be  free,  an  effort 
which  never  materialized,  and  at  length  the  plaintive 
features  of  a  white-capped  Sister  of  Mercy ;  then  his 
mother — and  then  !  Life  had  beckoned  him  on.  Weakly 
he  had  reached  forth  for  it,  not  knowing  that  with  it  must 
come  the  sick  unrest,  the  old  torment,  this  anguish  for  the 
unforbiddable  !  Oh,  just  God,  was  this  Life,  then — this 
eternal  war  against  what  is  ? 

He  spoke,  but  so  hoarsely  she  was  obliged  to  lean  for- 
ward to  listen. 

1 '  They  were  footpads.  Mariotti  headed  them.  I  was 
intent  upon  getting  back  to  the  station  to  complete  my 
scheme.  They  struck  me  down." 

She  had  both  hands  before  her  eyes.  She  was  shudder- 
ing. 

He  let  his  glance  fall  upon  her  now.  Those  famished 
eyes  never  left  off  looking  for  quite  forty  seconds.  Then 
they  steadily,  as  though  dragged  mercilessly  by  some  un- 
seen force,  looked  away. 

"You  are  kind  to  have  pitied  me,"  she  heard  him 
say  distinctly,  in  a  far-off  sort  of  voice,  some  moments 
later. 

"And  that  is  all?" 

319 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

"All,"  he  answered. 
"  And  it  was  my  fault  ?" 
"No." 


CHAPTER  XLI 

THE   SIGN  AT  THE   CROSS-ROADS 

THE  Ambassador  began  looking  in  more  frequently.  He 
brought  a  message  from  Burgess.  The  surveyor  had  re- 
quested the  honor  of  an  interview  with  the  comrade  he 
had  so  unstintedly  mourned  ;  whose  untimely  fate  he  obsti- 
nately accused  himself  of  having  provoked.  Upon  Con- 
way's  acquiescence  he  stumbled  in  one  night,  his  hard  old 
face  quivering.  They,  one  and  all,  retired  precipitately 
upon  catching  sight  of  those  working  features.  After  a 
silent  moment,  in  which  the  surveyor  drew  his  cuff  across 
his  eyes,  and  Conway  pulled  a  coverlet  up  over  his  emaci- 
ated frame,  Burgess  muttered  doggedly,  — 

"I  felt  in  me  bones  that  yer  were  meant  to  push  the 
thing  through,  Mister  Jack,  an'  so  ye  will.  The  game  is 
ours.  We  have  the  whip-hand.  That  chalk  stratum  crosses 
the  border,  God  be  praised  !  Yer  Frenchman  won't  hev 
a  word  to  say  for  hisself.  '  ' 

The  surveyor's  moist  eyes  were  eloquent,  his  cap  in  his 
hand  ;  his  coarsely  shod  feet  shuffled  in  and  out  against 
one  another,  as  of  old.  Burgess  was  leaving  France  for 
America.  His  plan  of  the  Carembourg  lands  reposed, 
neatly  rolled,  under  Conway  's  palm  on  the  table  between 
them. 

"  I  will  come  along,  too,  after  the  trial,"  said  Conway. 

"  Right  ye  are,  sir.  Ye'  re  not  made  fur  the  cumpaniun- 
ship  uv  these  'ere  furriners.  They're,  the  entire  kit  and 
boodle  uv  'em,  a  rum  lot." 

320 


THE  SIGN  AT  THE  CROSS-ROADS 

Conway  asked  to  see  the  Ambassador  privately  that 
evening.  His  request  was  granted.  The  two  friends  sat 
and  chatted  far  into  the  night. 

Conway  began  soberly,  his  eyes  cast  down,  his  fingers 
knotting  restlessly  the  fringe  of  the  knit  coverlet  under 
which  he  reclined. 

' '  I  owe  you  an  apology, ' '  he  said,  ' '  for  not  strictly 
obeying  orders." 

"How  so?" 

Conway  suddenly  recognized  that  he  was  dealing  with  a 
lawyer.  The  Ambassador's  tone  expressed  clearer  than 
his  words  that  he  had  reserved  judgment  until  an  enlight- 
enment was  proffered. 

' '  I  had  no  business  to  go  up  to  Paris,  when  you  had 
sent  me  to  Carembourg. ' ' 

"  Why  did  you  go  ?" 

The  Ambassador's  eyes  met  the  invalid's. 

"  I  went,"  returned  Conway,  "because  we  had  seen,  or 
rather  Burgess  had  reported  having  seen  that  day,  Lam- 
balle  himself." 

"Ah!"  The  Ambassador's  face  brightened  involun- 
tarily. 

' '  I  thought  to  confirm  his  absence  or  presence,  in  Paris, 
would  facilitate  our  search." 

"How  so?" 

' '  In  case  of  his  absence  from  Carembourg,  the  time  to 
pursue,  unmolested,  our  scheme.  In  the  case  of  his  pres- 
ence there,  to  discontinue  it." 

"  Paris,"  remarked  Markoe,  drily,  "is  a  large  city." 

"Yes." 

"  You  found  Lamballe  ?" 

' '  I  found  him.  If  it  had  not  been  for  Mariotti,  you 
understand,  I  would  have  accomplished  my  object,  and  fol- 
lowed up  our  errand." 

21  321 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

"Yes,"  acquiesced  the  Ambassador,  quietly,  "I  under- 
stand." 

"I  made  a  botch  of  it,  Stephen.  I  knew  I  should.  I 
was  a  green  hand,  and  did  not  take  sufficient  precautions. ' ' 

"No,"  returned  Markoe,  smoking  placidly,  "the  neces- 
sary precautions  were  lacking." 

1 '  I  wish  my  first  encounter  could  have  been  attended 
with  more  success." 

"Success,"  vouchsafed  the  Ambassador,  "registers  no 
more  or  less  than  the  accident  of  averted  failures. ' ' 

' '  You  think  so  ?' '  earnestly.  The  invalid' s  pallid  looks 
belied  somewhat  his  recent  querulous  statement  that  he 
had  strength  enough  to  push  matters  through  swiftly  now, 
in  order  to  make  up  for  lost  time. 

"There  are  two  classes  of  men.  The  men  who  succeed 
and  those  who  fail,"  he  continued,  dejectedly. 

"  Pardon  me,"  intercepted  Markoe.  "  There  is  but  one 
kind — the  kind  who  make  mistakes." 

"Perhaps,  with  Burgess's  plan  to  help  me,  I  may  be 
able  to  induce  Lamballe  to  reverse  his  decision,  when  he 
becomes  sufficiently  convinced  that  it  is  for  France's  good," 
the  young  fellow  went  on  more  hopefully. 

Conway  had  not  learned  his  chief's  opinion  as  regarded 
the  delay  his  own  unfortunate  disappearance  had  compelled. 
Neither  did  he  ever  know  that  there  had  been  some  sharp 
reproofs  administered  through  the  home  office — reprimands 
which  deplored  the  Ambassador's  incomprehensible  passive 
policy. 

"I  selected  you  as  my  assistant,"  remarked  Markoe 
later.  He  had  risen  to  go.  The  invalid,  in  spite  of  his 
protest,  had  gotten  up  to  accompany  his  guest  to  the  door. 
' '  I  think  I  have  not  been  mistaken  in  you. ' ' 

"  In  spite  of  events  having  proved  to  the  contrary?" 

"They  have  proved  nothing  as  yet.  We  have  been 

322 


THE   SIGN  AT  THE  CROSS-ROADS 

balked.  That  is  not  frustration.  I  told  the  President  that 
the  man  required  for  the  Carembourg  mission  must,  in  ac- 
quiring the  diplomacy  the  issue  demanded,  make  three  ele- 
ments evident." 

4 '  And  those  ?' '  eagerly,  the  young  neck  craned  forward, 
the  dark  eyes  in  their  gaunt  frame — they  had  taken  on  an 
almost  abnormal  brilliancy  in  the  past  second — frankly 
anxious. 

' '  Silence  first,  conscientious  concentration  next,  and  a 
master  makeshift." 

"And?" 

' '  The  silence  has  been  yours  ;  the  conscientious  concen- 
tration is  yours.  The  master  makeshift ?" 

There  was  a  pause.  Jack  stretched  out  his  hand.  The 
Ambassador  shook  it  a  trifle  awkwardly.  Madeleine  Farra- 
gut's  only  son  was  an  oddly  emotional  specimen.  He  lit 
another  cigar. 

"You  say  that  after  the  trial  you  are  going  home  to 
strike  out  for  a  career, ' '  he  said.  "  I  am  glad  to  hear 
that.  You  have  good  stuff  in  you  :  steel,  mercury,  and 
iron.  It  may  be  of  use  for  you  to  know  that  there  is  an 
inscription  printed  on  the  mile-stone  that  commands  my 
cross-roads.  It  is  my  best  friend.  I  was  young  once  ;  I 
had  big,  strong  dreams  ;  I  thought  I  could  control  the 
undercurrent.  Unlike  you,  however,  I  was  poor.  I  re- 
member now  successful  men,  for  me,  never  seemed  pos- 
sessed of  any  element  of  lasting  charm.  The  strugglers 
alone  roused  my  interest.  They  meant  fiber.  The  idlers 
signified  pulp.  Of  course,  in  those  days,  I  was  intolerant. 
Perhaps  I  am  still,  but  not  so  much  as  I  was.  You  were 
pulpy,  young  one,  when  I  came  upon  you,  shreddy  fabric 
dyed  in  the  loom  ;  main  faults  surplus  everything  ;  surplus 
luxury,  surplus  overfeeding.  They  warp  and  choke  up. 
Grit  can't  assimilate  in  such  quarters.  You  had,  in  spite 

323 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

of  this,  energy  enough  to  aspire  to  something  different. 
Something  different  is  what  beckons  men  on  in  battle,  within 
the  range  of  the  enemy' s  guns.  Something  different  is  the 
eagle  screech  of  our  nation. ' ' 

"  What  was  the  inscription  on  that  mile-post,  Stephen?" 

The  Ambassador  let  his  grey  eyes  fall  upon  the  strained 
face  at  his  side.  His  own  softened  a  trifle. 

As  they  did  so  Conway  remembered,  with  a  tightening  of 
his  pulse  which  was  involuntary,  that  this  man  might  not 
live  more  than  his  allotted  share  of  three  score  years  and 
ten. 

"Stephen,"  he  interpolated  impetuously, — the  memory 
of  the  sin  for  which  his  blood  had  burned  now  flared  up 
and  scorched  his  eloquent  face, — "  I  would  like  to  tell  you 
something. ' ' 

A  mighty  light  blazed  in  the  Ambassador's  neutral  eyes. 
It  glowed  widely  ;  then  it  vanished.  He  pointed,  with  one 
finger,  at  the  clock. 

"  You  are  only  convalescent,  young  one,"  he  remarked, 
good  humoredly.  "  That,  remember,  is  but  a  partial  cure. 
It  sometimes  lets  in  fever,  and  even  delirium.  You  are 
weak  still.  We  must  not  go  backwards.  Our  cause  is 
almost  won." 

There  was  a  cheerier  note  in  his  vibrant  voice  than  Con- 
way  ever  remembered  having  remarked  before. 

"  If  we  can  win,"  continued  Markoe,  "  without  too  great 
an  expenditure  of  superfluous  force,  it  will  only  be  the  be- 
ginning of  many  victories  for  you." 

Conway  did  not  speak.  He  stood  regarding  him  with 
glittering  eyes.  The  Ambassador  pulled  on  his  overcoat. 
He  fastened  the  buttons  of  his  gloves.  It  was  early  spring, 
and  the  nights  were  cold. 

"  What  is  the  inscription  on  your  mile-post?" 

"  Ah  !  I  had  forgotten.  Odd,"  with  a  little  irrepressible 

324 


THE  TRIAL 

chuckle.  "  It  may  seem  Greek  to  you.  It  won't  always. 
Remember  that  ;  it  won't  always.  Perhaps  it  may  dis- 
courage you  now,  '  '  with  a  sudden  frown.  '  '  But,  no  ;  I 
think  not.  It  is  full  of  pith.  It  is,  in  any  case,  a  good 
enigma  to  work  out.  Anglo-Saxon  is  the  finest,  most  con- 
vincing language  in  the  world,  if  understood  cleverly.  '  ' 

4  'And  the  words?" 

"Failure  is  opportunity." 


CHAPTER  XLII 

THE   TRIAL 

CULTURE  of  the  higher  instincts  has  at  times  been  known 
to  subdue  even  the  impulse  of  self-preservation.  The  so- 
called  lower  classes,  however,  rejoice  in  exercising  their 
individual  prerogative  practising  the  old-fashioned  theory 
of  vengeance.  To  those  of  the  inner  brotherhood  behind 
the  scenes  of  professional  retaliation,  the  exercise  of  which 
brings  them  close  to  human  depravity,  an  original  scheme 
of  revenge  is  not  only  considered  the  natural  sequence  of 
familiarity  with  the  ungodly,  but  the  imperative  just  claim 
of  any  individual  who  has  been  wrongfully  —  in  the  pursuit 
of  executing  justice  —  misunderstood. 

Lubin,  glowing  with  the  sense  of  his  own  importance, 
had  been  attacked  in  his  most  vulnerable  portion  when 
Mariotti  had  turned  on  him,  under  the  eyes  of  the  gaping 
mob,  who  instinctively  up  to  this  regarded  the  renowned 
detective  as  a  king  of  power,  and,  smarting  with  his  own 
wrongs,  had  set  his  fangs  alongside  his  hand.  He  had  left 
a  bigger  wound  than  the  mangled  flesh  revealed  ;  a  moral 
sore  which  suppurated,  and  plead  for  vengeance  long  after 

325 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

the  outward  manifestation  of  the  clown's  venomous  spite 
was  healed.  In  a  word,  according  to  Lubin's  private  con- 
viction, that  attack  of  the  clown  had  nailed  the  final  screw 
in  his  coffin. 

Under  any  circumstances  the  eminent  official  would  have 
felt  no  pity  for  the  miserable  creature  whom  he  had  brought 
to  justice  ;  sympathy  dies  an  easy  death  in  the  face  of  the 
callousness  of  human  kind.  If  there  is  honor  between 
thieves,  the  quality  of  mercy  is  an  exploded  fantasy  among 
detectives.  But  without  that  attack  upon  Lubin's  person, 
which  made  him  for  the  time  being  the  under  dog,  Mariotti 
might  have  gotten  off  with  his  life. 

Attempted  manslaughter  cannot  prove  just  cause  for 
guillotining,  especially  when  the  patient,  alive  and  well, 
rejoices  in  his  health  and  high  spirits  under  the  glad  eyes 
of  his  numerous  friends  and  acquaintances,  as  did  young 
Conway. 

Lubin  knew  this.  Inasmuch,  however,  as  he  had  pri- 
vately resolved  that  the  clown  should  suffer  for  his  irrever- 
ence, he  lent  all  his  powers  towards  bringing  him  now  to  a 
final  punishment.  The  law  which  precluded  the  total  ex- 
tinction which  Lubin  so  rabidly  desired  was  known  as  the 
Berenger  law.  Its  chief  quality  was  mercy.  It  preached 
against  malevolence,  while  at  the  same  time  according  a 
long  rein  to  the  sinner  who  could  prove  he  had  never 
sinned  before.  Mariotti  would  have  been  sent  up  for  life 
had  it  not  been  for  Berenger.  That  law-maker  had  it  down 
in  the  code  of  public  morals  that  unless  a  law-breaker  has 
committed  a  former  proven  crime,  his  punishment  shall  be 
mitigated.  The  clause  which  thus  attenuated  justice, 
read  the  plea  of  extenuating  circumstances.  Impulse,  it 
argued,  might  have  been  excuse  for  a  first  offence,  or  igno- 
rance. A  second  or  third  delinquency,  Berenger  claimed, 
alone  confirmed  a  settled  bent  towards  guile, — in  which 

326 


THE  TRIAL 

case  the  hardened  sinner  must  pay  the  full  penalty  of  the 
law. 

So  Lubin,  cognizant  of  every  shade  and  grade  of  Gallic 
municipal  mechanism,  had  set  to  work,  during  those  long 
months  pending  Conway's  convalescence,  to  unearth  the 
Gascon's  earlier  methods  of  living. 

It  was  with  great  glee  that  he  finally  discovered,  in  the 
course  of  his  manifold  exercise  of  personal  spite,  the  fact 
of  Mariotti's  perpetual  leaning  towards  iniquity,  and  its 
public  registration.  He  came  across  this  plethoric  circum- 
stance one  day  in  April,  when  his  courage  was  almost  ex- 
hausted, and  his  personal  venom  was  dying  out  for  lack  of 
sustenance. 

He  had  been  running  his  forefinger  along  the  police 
register  of  five  years  since,  when  his  practised  eyes  encoun- 
tered the  pithy  relation  of  an  anarchist,  a  Gascon  of  merid- 
ional temperament  and  great  personal  magnetism,  who  had, 
on  the  sunny  slopes  of  the  Riviera,  grown  so  in  love  with 
oblique  methods  that  he  had  formed  a  gang  of  political 
cutthroats,  which  had  finally  been  arrested  for  instigating 
a  miniature,  badly-organized  revolution.  The  leader  had 
ultimately  been  proven  guilty  of  almost  every  sin  known 
in  the  socialistic  rogues'  calendar.  The  little  company  had 
been  collectively  brought  to  justice,  and  made  to  pay  the 
penalty  of  their  crime  singly,  with  the  exception  of  their 
captain  whom,  it  was  quoted,  possessed  the  skin  of  the 
proverbial  leopard  and  the  subterfuges  of  the  flea.  It  was 
related  that  this  Gascon,  a  man  with  olive  skin  and  a  pair 
of  shifting  eyes,  was  possessed  of  limbs  of  rubber,  and 
muscles  so  capitally  trained  that  he  had  been  known  to 
utilize  them  to  leap  as  far  and  as  high  as  a  greyhound,  and 
to  edge  himself  through  the  narrowest  apertures  like  a 
snake.  His  name  was  Antonio  Mario.  He  had,  up  to 
now,  escaped  capture. 

327 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

He  was  wanted  chiefly  for  having  assassinated  an  old 
woman  in  the  suburbs  of  Nice.  She  had  been  found 
strangled  to  death,  her  treasure  box  rifled,  her  body 
hideously  mutilated  and  burned. 

In  a  later  report  the  statement  was  printed  that  Mario 
had  been  seen  in  Paris,  haranguing  a  gang  of  anarchists  in 
a  cellar  in  the  vicinity  of  Montmartre.  When  set  upon 
by  the  police,  his  assistants  had  turned  State's  evidence  to 
procure  their  own  release,  and  had  proclaimed  their  leader 
to  be  a  notorious  brigand  who  had  miraculously  escaped 
the  penalty  of  the  law.  In  one  case  his  band  had  been 
captured.  In  the  other  they  had  gotten  off  scot-free 
through  the  machinations  of  their  deliverer,  who  was  no 
less  than  Mariotti  himself — he  at  that  time  having  put  into 
play  a  sleight-of-hand  trick  which  momentarily  turned  the 
attention  of  the  pursuing  party  from  their  prey — the 
entire  gang  escaping,  to  the  extreme  discomfiture  of  the 
pursuers.  This  affair  had  been  hushed  up,  since  it  could 
not  lay  claim  to  edifying  the  community  at  large. 

As  Lubin  read  his  face  broadened.  He  copied  some 
notes  on  his  cuff.  He  made  off  unctuously  to  the  Prefet 
de  Police,  from  whose  private  office  he  emerged  later,  with 
an  expression  upon  his  countenance  which  contained  a  sus- 
picion of  malice.  Lubin  was  indubitably  a  great  man  in 
his  sphere,  but  the  glow  which  now  set  fast  in  his  spirit 
savored  not  a  little  of  an  inferior's  satisfaction  at  having 
accomplished  the  noble  act,  not  entirely  disinterested,  of 
having  rid  the  famous  public  of  a  pest. 

Lubin  rooted  out  slowly  the  long  list  of  his  crimes. 
When  he  concluded,  not  a  flaw  was  to  be  found  in  the 
circlet  of  proof  which  was  to  bind  in  his  chosen  enemy. 

That  night  the  detective  went  home  and  slept  the  sleep 
of  the  just,  the  first  restful  repose  he  had  had  for  five 
months. 

328 


THE  TRIAL 

Proceedings  were  begun  some  weeks  before  Conway  had 
entirely  recovered. 

The  court-room  was  packed  to  the  doors.  Naturally 
the  affair  attracted  widespread  attention.  In  the  colony  it 
was  whispered  that  Conway  would  give  important  evidence. 
The  Ambassador's  name  was  mentioned  as  being,  through 
some  mysterious  complication,  connected  with  the  case. 

Comment  was  made  that  he  attended  the  trial  daily  and 
with  interest  watched  the  slow  development  of  Mariotti's 
delinquencies  which  unrolled  with  increasing  evidence  of  a 
lurid  talent  for  extracting  iniquity  from  every  corner  of 
life. 

The  prisoner  regarded  the  affair  as  an  advertisement. 
He  had  been  ushered  into  court  the  first  day  shambling  and 
chattering  ;  his  skin  of  a  shocking  pallor,  wasted  with  con- 
finement, a  gibbering,  curse-corroded,  dungeon-haunted, 
human  reptile.  But  as  the  weeks  rolled  by  his  manner  be- 
came cocksure.  He  occupied  again  the  position  he  had 
lost,  that  of  the  spoiled  child  of  the  public.  The  world's 
applause  was  the  fillip  to  Mariotti's  spirit  that  the  cry  of 
' '  coo-ee' '  is  to  a  colonial. 

So  that  when  the  summing  up  took  place,  and  the  next 
to  the  last  day  came  and  Conway  walked  into  the  court  to 
give  evidence,  Mariotti  looked  his  own  affair  in  the  face 
with  the  delighted  expectancy  of  a  child,  who,  although 
having  committed  a  wrong,  considers  his  guilt  as  but  a 
fair  sample  of  his  art. 

Human  nature,  in  spite  of  its  vows  to  the  contrary,  sub- 
mits to  the  undoing  of  its  fellows  with  admirable  calm. 

The  doors  of  the  court-room  had  swung  wide  that  morn- 
ing at  eight  o'clock.  There  was  expectancy  in  the  atmos- 
phere. If  the  crowd  of  gamins  at  the  entrance  had  not 
been  beaten  off  by  stern  officials,  the  fact  of  an  affair  of 
vast  importance  would  have  already  declared  itself,  in  the 

329 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

exaggerated  exercise  of  authority  which  these  minions  of 
the  law  seldom  lent  to  the  discussion  of  a  plot  less  prom- 
ising of  piquante  disclosures. 

The  great  and  small  journalists  by  ten  A.M.  had  taken 
their  places  in  the  gallery.  Ten  minutes  later  the  stenog- 
raphers sat  in  a  row,  their  papers  and  pencils  neatly  pre- 
pared on  a  flat  table  which  stood  before  them. 

A  sprinkling  of  notabilities  began  to  file  in. 

There  was  Conway,  looking  taller  than  ever  in  his  frock 
coat,  pale,  aristocratic,  carrying  a  cane  on  which  he  leaned 
heavily  as  he  entered.  He  chatted  from  time  to  time  with 
his  mother,  who  was  seated  directly  behind  him,  accom- 
panied by  a  distinguished  looking  individual,  who  some 
one  up  in  "  haute  aristocratic' '  details  whispered  loudly 
was  "the  illustrious  dramatist,  Ferdinand  Lamballe. " 

There  was  the  United  States  Ambassador,  and  beautiful 
Mrs.  Markoe  very  wan  and  frail  looking  after  her  recent 
illness.  There  was  the  Austrian  princess,  and  after  a  time 
the  English  Ambassador  dropped  in  with  the  Swedish 
attache.  Above  everything  to  the  gossiping  gang,  which 
had  prayed  for,  bought,  and  stolen  an  entrance,  there  was 
Marguerite,  Duchesse  de  Launoy,  in  a  gown  which  set  all 
the  little  pension  frequenters,  and  those  upstarts  for  place 
with  which  Paris  abounds,  into  ecstacies  over  its  simplicity. 

Mariotti's  features  worked  violently  as  he  recognized 
that  the  affair  had  by  this  almost  taken  on  the  dignity  of  a 
coronation,  or  a  first  night.  There  was  the  bustle  coinci- 
dent with  a  great  event  which  he  had  never  been  equal  to 
withstanding,  when  those  aristocrats  he  professed  to  de- 
spise acclaimed  him  as  a  god  in  his  sphere.  His  crest- 
fallen mood  vanished.  He  began  to  feel  as  though  the  sun 
once  more  penetrated  his  turgid  fancy.  In  the  gloom  of 
his  prison  it  had  sickened  and  snarled  at  the  approach  of 
a,n  unpremeditated  doom.  It  now  leaped  with  joy  at  the 

330 


THE  TRIAL 

sight  of  his  victim,  grinningly  aware  within  of  how  much 
he  had  been  able  to  make  the  miserable  upstart  suffer. 
He  forgot  past  waste  hours  wherein  the  innocent  recipient 
of  his  cruelty  had  writhed  in  impotent  agony,  past  brutal- 
ity towards  the  guiltless  and  the  oppressed,  even  the  deter- 
mination to  drain  from  the  fortunate  his  merited  socialistic 
realization  of  equality.  Conway  exemplified,  to  this  ex- 
aggerated specimen  of  speculative  instincts,  the  best  in- 
vestment he  had  ever  made.  The  Ambassadress  he  even 
now,  chucklingly,  was  laughing  at  in  his  sleeve  for  having 
accorded  him  a  glimpse  of  that  naivet6  of  the  spotless  and 
exalted  which  he  had  never  approached,  so  nearly,  to  his 
own  advantage.  He  wondered — coiling  mentally,  as  he  did 
so,  a  cobra  preparing  to  sting  with  his  forked  tongue  in 
two  places  at  once — if  the  racy  chance  would  be  proffered 
wherein  he  might  prove  Conway' s  impertinence  at  dealing 
irreverently  with  an  individual  of  his  prominence,  and  to 
strike  the  Ambassador  where  he  knew  his  soreness  lay — a 
weakness  which  tickled  Mariotti  in  his  profoundest  unfaith 
— the  feminine  sex. 

Markoe  sat  contemplating  the  wriggling  rascal  with  his 
customary  calm.  His  face  was  drawn  and  worn.  If  he 
experienced  any  uneasiness  that  his  wife's  entanglement 
with  the  case  might  be  revealed,  thus  lending  her  to  being 
torn  to  pieces  by  the  wolves  of  public  opinion,  he  gave  no 
evidence  of  it. 

The  proceedings  began  after  the  usual  preliminaries  had 
been  gone  through  with  and  dismissed.  They  comprised — 
with  a  list  of  the  prisoner's  delinquencies,  which  the  reader 
of  the  morning's  legal  chapter  pronounced  superfluous  in 
the  present  issue,  a  treatment  which  made  Mariotti,  who 
had  suddenly  turned  his  old  hideous  pallor,  relax  once  more 
— Lubin's  account  of  his  pursuit  of  the  clown,  coincident 
upon  his  discovery  that  he  was  leading  a  dual  existence. 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

He  explained  that  Mariotti  had  roused  his  suspicions  by 
instituting  inquiries  as  regarded  the  Ambassador's  financial 
status. 

The  detective  pictured  graphically,  to  Mariotti' s  visible 
edification,  his  own  participation  in  the  clown's  daily  life 
from  that  on.  He  was  an  interesting  study  as  he  stood 
there,  every  impression  he  received  faithfully  worked  out 
in  his  vivid  countenance.  Concisely  he  depicted  the  rise  of 
the  Gascon  who,  with  such  lightning  speed,  had  steadily 
advanced  in  his  genius  for  vice,  his  saintly  back  in  its 
shiny  frock  coat  turned  towards  the  object  of  his  detesta- 
tion, his  chubby  profile  expressively  delighted  at  last  at 
being  instrumental  in  bringing  the  wily  criminal  before  his 
accusers  in  his  true  character,  while  he  related  his  story. 

The  judge  checked  him  as,  garrulously,  he  attempted  to 
gather  up  the  threads  of  Mario's  past  life  and  fasten  them 
with  the  present  imbroglio. 

1 '  That  will  do.  Vous  avez  le  temps,  allez, ' '  said  he. 
' '  For  the  present  we  must  keep  close  to  the  issue  at 
hand." 

Conway  was  seated  with  his  eyes  cast  down.  It  had  re- 
quired all  his  force  to  put  from  him  the  delicious  knowledge 
that  the  Ambassadress,  singly  and  faithfully,  had  sought 
to  save  him  from  the  cruel  sequel  of  his  own  temerity. 
The  burden  she  had  carried  for  him  served  to  soften  some- 
what the  bitter  sense  of  failure  which,  he  had  assumed, 
must  hereafter  always  be  his  portion.  He  had  not  learned 
as  yet  that  the  consciousness  of  weakness  often  proves  a 
strength  in  itself.  He  only  knew  that  he  had  been  flabby 
in  the  one  effort  of  his  life  wherein  he  should  have  been 
most  strong.  But  he  should  ever  hug  to  himself,  he  knew, 
the  sweet  knowledge  that  she  had  fought  for  him,  with  all 
her  woman's  wit  during  those  long,  slow,  tortuous  weeks 
when  she  might  have  spoken — had  she  not,  too,  pitied  him. 

332 


THE  TRIAL 

Now,  when  Lubin's  story  led  him  to  read  between  the 
lines  an  evasion  of  the  main  circumstance  which  had 
brought  his  own  sufferings  to  light — that  circumstance 
which  made  all  those  cognizant  of  Kate  Markoe's  confu- 
sion bend  their  gaze  everywhere  except  upon  her  flushed 
face — Conway  glanced  involuntarily  at  her. 

In  that  look  he  received  his  most  acute  punishment  for 
past  neglect  of  Markoe's  interests  or  possible  sufferings. 
Kate  Markoe's  sad  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her  husband's 
face.  As  Lubin  pursued  his  story,  the  court  hanging 
breathlessly  on  the  smallest  detail  dished  up  so  generously 
for  their  special  delectation,  she  forgot  time,  place,  her 
own  pride,  as  she  strove  to  imprint  upon  her  heart  forever 
the  features  of  the  man  whose  love  she  had  been  powerless 
to  keep.  And  justly.  She  recognized,  perhaps  with  undue 
severity,  how  unworthy  she  had  been  of  this  specimen  of 
manhood  who  in  simplest  fashion  asked  but  to  do  his  duty. 

If  Stephen  Markoe  had  turned  at  that  instant  this  story 
would  have  concluded  here.  But  he  did  not  turn  ;  thus 
he  missed  seeing  in  his  wife' s  fair  face  a  truth  which  stabbed 
Conway  in  his  direst  need,  and  left  him  inexorably  crippled. 

The  past  few  weeks  had  dragged  along  wearily  for  the 
Ambassador  and  his  wife.  A  widening  gulf  yawned  be- 
tween them.  He  had  bidden  her  wait.  She  had  waited. 
She  would  wait  until  the  trial  had  been  consummated. 
But  what  a  waiting  !  A  veritable  sword  of  Damocles  hung 
over  her  head  suspended  by  a  single  hair — the  hair  of 
Time.  One  touch  of  her  husband's  will  and  it  would  fall, 
cutting  her  off  forever  from  the  greatest  gift  life  had  of- 
fered her.  Painfully — only  Kate  Markoe  knew  how  pain- 
fully— it  was  coming  home  to  her  that  she  had  been  her 
own  undoing. 

It  was  Conway 's  turn  to  mount  the  witness-stand.  The 
audience  whispered  volubly  as  he  climbed  to  his  place. 

333 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

This  had  been  the  intended  victim  of  Mariotti's  venom. 
He  had  not  died — by  the  grace  of  God  !  "  What  a  pity 
if  he  had,"  thought  a  pretty  matron  in  the  audience  with 
a  taste  for  romance. 

"The  night  was  dark,"  stated  Comvay,  briefly.  "I 
was  bewildered  by  the  glare  in  the  Hotel  Launoy,  whither 
I  had  gone  to  attend  the  ball  of  the  season.  I  ran  out 
from  under  the  canopy,  spread  over  a  temporary  conserva- 
tory erected  for  the  occasion,  in  order  to  catch  my  train  for 
Carembourg,  where  I  had  been  stopping.  It  was  a  half 
hour  to  the  Gare  de  Lyons.  I  lifted  my  hand  to  call  a  cab 
when  I  suddenly  felt  as  if  I  had  been  hit  by  some  blunt 
instrument  from  behind.  I  had  met  Mariotti  earlier  in  the 
evening.  He  was  in  costume  ;  a  fantastic  figure  enough, 
reeling  down  the  Champs  Elysees,  singing  a  popular  song. 
It  was  imperative  I  should  visit  the  Hotel  Launoy  that 
evening."  He  paused  a  moment  ;  his  lips  whitened.  He 
saw  the  Ambassador's  face  as  in  a  mist,  with  its  brave  eyes 
and  grave  mouth.  Then  he  went  on,  but  in  that  instant 
he  wondered  sharply  if  men  realize  that  one  night's  work 
may  mar  their  hope  of  peace,  present  and  future.  He 
had  seen,  as  he  spoke,  the  Ambassadress  turn  and  look 
at  him,  as  though  striving  instinctively  to  beg  him  to  pass 
over  this  portion  of  his  story  as  swiftly  as  possible.  ' '  She 
seeks  to  protect  him  this  time,"  he  thought,  bitterly,  then 
he  dismissed  the  thought  as  unworthy  and  dashed  on. 
"They  struck  me  from  the  back.  There  seemed  a  num- 
ber of  them,  but  as  I  turned  in  their  midst  I  saw  Mariotti, 
grinning  fearfully.  He  said  something,  the  import  of 
which  I  did  not  catch  as  I  raised  my  hand  to  ward  off  his 
furious  blow.  Then  I  knew  no  more,  but  before  I  fell  I 
saw  him  strike.  I  remember  now  that  what  he  said  was 
'  a  bas  les  aristocrats. ' 

' '  Everything  was  a  blank  until  I  woke  in  that  fetid 

334 


MARIOTTI'S   DEFENCE 

chamber,  and  saw  Mariotti  standing  over  me  like  an 
avenging-  devil,  with  a  glass  of  some  brown  liquid  in  his 
hand.  He  told  me  to  drink  it.  I,  struggling  against  an 
overpowering  sense  that  all  was  not  well  with  me,  com- 
plied. There  is  no  need  to  enlarge  upon  the  further 
details  of  my  confinement,  "  he  added,  shortly  —  the  woman 
who  was  listening,  her  heart  almost  rent  asunder,  her  brain 
distracted,  knew  the  intonation  was  pitiful  in  the  extreme  — 
for  her  sake  ;  not  for  Mariotti'  s. 

Conway  seated  himself  heavily,  to  the  great  chagrin  of 
some  ignorant  persons  in  the  court  room,  who  were  gazing 
awe-stricken  at  the  young  millionaire'  s  costly  watch  chain 
with  its  seal,  on  which  was  inscribed  an  iron  hand  in  a  velvet 
glove.  They  had  been,  too,  somewhat  amused  at  his  guarded 
French,  which,  although  accurate,  was  far  from  fluent. 

The  accused,  during  his  victim's  statement,  had  sat 
vacuously  grinning  at  the  ceiling  with  the  resigned  smile 
of  a  wrongfully  accused  member  of  a  higher  civilization. 

Some  witnesses  were  brought  in.  They  recounted  in  no 
guarded  terms  a  grewsome  tale  of  Mariotti'  s  cruelty  towards 
his  comrades.  Then  that  morning's  proceedings  termi- 
nated. The  court  adjourned. 


CHAPTER  XLIII 

MARIOTTI'S  DEFENCE 

THE  trial  dragged  along  for  weeks.  Gradually  the  main 
theme  thickened,  what  with  the  aid  of  some  able  police 
commissioners  and  their  investigations,  inspired  by  Lubin. 

Paris  journalism  gleefully  seized  upon  Mariotti'  s  downfall 
as  its  personal  opportunity.  It  had  sung  Mariotti  songs  and 
danced  Mariotti  waltzes  ad  libitum.  It  now  chanted  his 

335 


A    NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

dirge,  embellishing  it  with  feats  of  journalistic  skill  consist- 
ing of  gigantic  sub-heads  which,  attached  to  lurid  sheets, 
were  strewn  from  the  Batignolles  to  Notre  Dame.  Just  as 
Paris  had  gone  Mariotti-mad  one  day,  not  long  since,  re- 
peating his  mots  as  indication  of  the  acme  of  gamin  phi- 
losophy, now  it  jeered  mercilessly  at  his  downfall. 

Miniature  harlequins  were  sold  like  hot  cakes  at  little 
booths  erected  temporarily  for  the  purpose  on  the  boule- 
vards. When  the  startling  news  had  been  put  in  circula- 
tion that,  having  been  discovered  guilty  of  the  murder  of 
an  old  woman  near  Nice,  which  had  taken  place  some  five 
years  before,  the  murderer  was  to  pay  the  full  penalty  of 
his  crime,  the  delight  of  the  public  knew  no  bounds  in  an- 
ticipation of  their  fallen  idol's  last  unexpected  performance. 

The  prisoner  had  thought  that  his  sentence  would  be 
light,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  Conway  lived  and  flourished  ; 
but  one  day  the  prison  warden  wore  so  outspoken  an  ex- 
pression of  gratification  that  Mariotti,  acutely  susceptible 
to  physiognomies,  surprised  it,  and  asked  the  cause. 

His  keeper  regarded  him  curiously  through  the  slits  of 
his  evil  eyes. 

' '  You  had  better  begin  to  pray, ' '  he  said,  facetiously. 
"Your  time  is  short"  ;  and  then,  as  Mariotti  shrieked, 
leaping  to  his  feet  like  a  galvanized  viper,  his  cold-blooded 
informant  told  him  he  must  answer  to  his  Maker  in  the  old 
form, — a  life  for  a  life  ! 

"Look  to  yourself,"  he  muttered,  touching  the  wrig- 
gling rascal  at  his  feet  with  the  toe  of  his  boot, — he  had 
fallen  inert  after  rending  the  air  with  his  curses, — "when 
the  day  of  your  trial  is  at  hand  say  what  you  have  to  say 
boldly.  It  will  be  your  last  chance." 

It  had  been  pouring  hard  all  night.  The  rain  still  fell  in 
torrents.  The  reflection  from  the  black  wet  roofs  outside 

336 


MARIOTTFS  DEFENCE 

cast  over  the  presiding  judge's  lined  countenance  a  dark 
smirk  of  what  seemed  like  diabolical  glee  to  the  accused's 
inflamed  fancy. 

The  throng  buzzed  angrily,  at  last  rendered  conscious  of 
the  poisonous  instincts  of  the  viper  they  had  been  cherish- 
ing in  their  midst.  The  corridors  were  congested  with 
gendarmes,  spiked  bayonets  carried  stiffly  against  their 
right  shoulders.  They  stood  in  bodies,  lined  together 
at  the  heads  of  the  staircases,  beating  off  from  time  to 
time  the  surging  mob,  which  threatened  to  storm  their 
ranks,  divided  so  as  to  effect  an  egress  for  the  principal 
witnesses. 

The  air  was  stifling  ;  the  silence  intense.  Mariotti  had 
been  declared  guilty.  He  had  been  asked  if  he  had  any 
plea  to  advance  whereinsoever  the  full  penalty  of  the  law 
should  not  be  meted  out  to  him. 

In  his  mind's  eye  the  now  more  than  ever  notorious 
criminal  had  been  witnessing  all  night  an  arid  square  at 
Nancy,  in  which  a  wooden-beamed  guillotine  stood  forth 
against  the  slowly  pinkening  four  A.M.  sky.  He  had  been 
an  urchin  on  a  neighboring  roof  at  dawn  years  since,  no 
god  in  view  but  the  god  of  his  own  riotous  inclination. 
He  remembered  now,  fearfully,  what  he  had  then  witnessed 
gleefully,  having  craned  his  neck  from  dark  until  dawn, 
awaiting  mercilessly  the  passing  of  the  condemned. 

A  little  body  of  sombre-clad  men  ;  a  sad-eyed  priest 
reading  in  monotone  the  prayers  for  the  dying  ;  a  limp, 
horror-stricken  creature  with  leaden  eyes  and  blanched 
skin,  remorselessly  marched  towards  that  scaffolding  of 
doom. 

And  he  had  pitched  his  cap  above  his  tousled  head,  in 
silent  ecstacy  that  it  was  his  portion  to  obtain  a  glimpse  of 
so  ravishing  a  spectacle  ! 

To-day  he  had  been  dragged  into  court,  his  senses  sick 
•»  337 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

with  the  grisly  ghoulishness  his  imagination  lent  them. 
Now,  as  he  stumbled  to  his  feet  to  make  his  plea,  he 
crossed  himself,  a  gesture  his  confessor  had  taught  him  the 
night  before  when,  refusing  to  repent,  the  sinner  had  only 
crouched  gibbering  in  the  corner  of  his  cell  emitting  god- 
less imprecations.  He  realized  he  was  about  to  taste  for 
the  last  time  the  delicious  pastime  of  holding  a  multitude 
spell-bound  by  force  of  personal  magnetism. 

For  Mariotti,  as  he  stood  there,  a  pitiable  object  enough, 
his  long,  oily,  unkempt  hair  falling  to  his  shoulders,  his 
faintly  copper-colored  features  criss-crossed  with  terror, 
still  stood  sponsor  for  the  leashed  spirit  of  the  masses. 

He  thought  now,  exultantly, — the  conviction  flitted 
across  his  confused  brain  and  cleared  away  the  cobwebs 
of  that  too  much  thinking  which  makes  men  mad, — that 
not  one  of  his  accusers,  not  the  Duchesse  with  her  follow- 
ing of  worldlings,  nor  Lamballe,  supreme  in  his  marked 
emphasis  of  reiterated  power,  nor  Conway,  wearing  what 
seemed  to  the  miserable  wretch  a  triumphant  smile  over 
Mariotti' s  justifiable  end,  could  do  as  much.  He  might  be 
the  mountebank,  the  assassin,  the  proved  most  iniquitous 
instigator  of  other  men's  crimes  :  none  the  less  he  had 
always  been  a  master  in  his  line.  These  beings  fraught 
with  the  courage  which  a  full  pocket-book  engenders,  these 
pampered  creatures  odoriferous  of  luxury,  whose  gor- 
geously caparisoned  steeds  champed  their  bits  outside, 
whose  servants  in  livery  stood  behind  them  with  the  block- 
like expression  assumed  by  the  hired  underling,  never  had 
tasted  one  corner  of  life  as  Mariotti  knew  it.  Theirs  had 
not  been  the  hand-to-hand  encounter  with  reality  ;  theirs, 
in  all  likelihood,  would  never  be  the  fisticuff  tussle  for 
existence.  They  were  rocked  on  a  summer  sea  of  idleness 
or  prosperity  ;  their  dreams  were  stuffed  with  sawdust. 
They  mistook  it  for  flesh  and  blood.  They  knew  no  more 

338 


MARIOTTI'S  DEFENCE 

of  the  real  article,  what  with  the  polish  exacted  by  their 
senses,  than  the  French  dolls  in  the  Passage  des  Panora- 
mas. Mariotti  knew,  though.  He  had  lain  with  his  ear 
close  to  human  nature.  He  had  heard  it  throb.  He  had 
seen  it  with  his  own  eyes.  He  had  felt  with  his  own  senses 
all  the  upheavals,  the  struggles,  the  ceaseless  gnashing  of 
teeth  of  that  stratum  which  men  name  of  the  lower  class, 
but  which  Mariotti  truthfully  claimed  to  exemplify  the 
majority. 

Thus,  charged  with  a  brief  semblance  of  grit  which 
flamed  up  mightily  for  the  moment,  burning  out  in  this 
the  last  outspoken  moment  of  his  life  all  conscience  or 
sense  of  responsibility,  he  spoke.  And  his  listeners, 
astounded,  lifted  their  faces  in  wonder  as  the  prisoner 
swayed  there,  lightly  poised  on  his  long,  slender  feet, 
teaching  these,  the  advertised  apostles  of  order,  Mariotti' s 
creed. 

"I  will  answer  him  first,"  he  said,  almost  facetiously, 
indicating  Conway,  who  was  regarding  the  prisoner  from  a 
distance.  ' '  That  foreigner  came  to  me,  monsieur  le  Juge, 
to  borrow  my  costume  !  Why  did  he  not  dare  then  to 
appear  in  his  own  ?  He  was  no  less  a  man  than  I — and  all 
men  are  harlequins  where  they  are  not  fools.  Mariotti 
went  as  the  harlequin  Mariotti.  Not  so  the  more  aristo- 
cratic of  the  Duchesse's  guests.  In  all  that  distinguished 
assembly  the  night  of  the  Launoy  fete  Mariotti  was  the 
only  man  who  dared  proclaim  himself  as  himself.  The 
others,  lords  and  ladies  of  high  degree,  princes,  barons, 
counts,  dukes,  went  the  way  of  all  flesh, — to  deceive.  The 
clown,  and  the  clown  alone,  took  his  character  in  his  hand, 
a  custom  with  Mariotti,  and  scampered  through  the  throng 
as  ever,  their  spoiled  child.  Young  America  came  to  me, 
and  asked  of  me  my  costume  !  'Twas  like  asking  the 
leopard  for  his  skin.  Know  then,  messieurs,  the  costume 

339 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

Mariotti  is  not  the  costume  of  tout  le  monde  ;  neither  is  it 
the  invention  of  any  fourth-class  costumier  who  ekes  a 
living  stealing  other  men's  ideas.  It  is  the  original  creation 
of  this  brain, ' '  beating  his  forehead  with  his  hand.  ' '  It 
evolved  from  this  heart, ' '  striking  his  side.  ' '  The  hypo- 
critical intent,  then,  of  him  you  choose  to  denominate 
my  '  victim'  becomes  thus  apparent ;  n'  est-ce-pas  ?  The 
American  went  to  the  ball  to  represent  me.  He  went  as  a 
lie.  Now  I  am  human,  monsieur,  and  I  could  have  slain 
him  for  seeking  to  despoil  me  of  a  fame  I  had  taken  years 
to  establish.  For  what  I  had  sought  after,  starved  for, 
and  finally  accomplished,  he,  that  miserable  upstart  from  a 
country  nous  autres  ignore,  obtained  in  one  night.  And 
not  he  alone,  the  American,  but  also  our  illustrious  friend, 
the  great  Lamballe.  Know  then,  messieurs,  that  in  that 
famous  night  Mariotti  was  at  the  ball  three  times — for 
Lamballe  went  as  Mariotti,  and  the  American,  and  Mari- 
otti, a  triple  evidence  of  superior  proficiency.  Three  times 
lord  of  all  !" 

There  was  a  low  excited  murmur  from  the  rapt  audience. 

The  judge  knocked  with  his  gavel  upon  his  desk,  per- 
emptorily. ' '  Silence  !' '  he  commanded. 

The  clown  continued,  his  left  hand  had  crept  to  his  hip  ; 
it  rested  there  in  the  graceful  poise  which  this  abortionist 
of  simplicity  had  made  so  peculiarly  his  own.  His  left  was 
lifted  to  gesticulate  in  Mariotti' s  individual  fashion.  When 
making  a  point  he  laid  one  finger  against  his  nose  ;  when 
scoring  a  victory  he  snapped  two  digits  in  the  air  ;  upon 
the  acknowledgment  of  defeat  he  turned  one  hand  out 
with  the  palm  upwards,  slyly  observing  the  expression  of 
every  countenance  upturned  to  him,  hissing,  now  in  a  sibi- 
lant whisper,  now  in  a  soft,  musical,  peculiarly  mellifluous 
lisp,  through  his  broken,  darkened  teeth. 

1 '  The  second  question  is,  have  I  anything  to  say  why 

34° 


MARIOTTFS  DEFENCE 

the  extreme  penalty  of  the  law  should  not  be  passed  upon 
me  ?  Yes,  I  have  this  to  say.  In  meting  out  a  just  punish- 
ment to  the  American  I  only  paid  him  back  in  his  own 
coin.  He  dispossessed  me  of  my  character.  It  was  but 
meet  I  should  despoil  him  of  his  life.  He  stole  from  me 
what  was  dearer  than  life — if  only  for  an  hour — with  an  in- 
souciance, mais,  with  an  insouciance  which  was  to  me  a 
model  of  its  kind  !  My  answer  to  the  American,  monsieur, 
is  that  there  are  things  nous  autres  have  which  a  rich  man 
may  not  buy.  The  art  of  creativeness  for  one  thing — the 
right  to  administer  a  just  punishment  when  we  so  will. ' ' 

Crime  upon  crime  being  proved  against  him,  he  received 
the  crushing  evidence  of  his  guilt  nonchalantly,  ending 
thus, — 

' '  What  have  I  to  say  that  death  should  not  be  meted  out 
to  me  in  return  for  my  sins  ?  I  have  this  to  say.  Who  are 
ye  that  ye  should  mete  out  death  to  me  ?  Are  ye  less  self- 
seeking,  or  less  clowns  than  I  ?  I  say  no  !  You  dare  to 
judge  me  by  what  I  do  not  see.  You  claim  to  be  better 
men  than  I.  I,  a  professional  clown,  doubt  it.  Why, 
then  ?  Because  I  have  lived,  messieurs,  lived  every  inch 
of  my  life,  royally  lived  it.  Men  have  not  lived  until  they 
have  suffered,  say  ye?  I  have  suffered.  Men  have  not 
lived  until  they  have  loved,  you  claim  ?  Well,  then,  I  have 
loved,  much  and  often,  and  I  say  that  women  love  our 
love  for  them  better  than  they  love  ourselves,  and  that 
men  love  us  for  what  we  teach  them  of  evil.  Men  have 
not  lived  until  they  have  hated.  I  hate  !' ' 

His  lips  were  drawn  now  like  a  white  cord  across  his 
teeth  ;  his  hand  still  pressed  convulsively  against  his  hip  ; 
it  was  creeping  furtively  towards  a  slit  in  his  pocket. 

' '  Men  have  not  lived  until  they  have  killed  !  Who  of 
us,  I  ask,  has  not  killed  ?' '  his  strident  voice  now  rising  to 
a  hoarse  shriek.  ' '  You  !' '  pointing  with  his  slim,  shaking 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

finger  at  the  judge.  "You  !"  denoting  Conway.  "You 
shake  your  heads.  Fools  !"  Some  foam  now  could  be 
seen  at  the  corners  of  the  criminal's  mouth  ;  his  eyes  held 
curious  forked  lights  like  those  of  a  snake.  ' '  Do  you  not 
kill,  then,  when  you  bid  men  like  me  cease  to  hope,  when 
you  kick  a  cur  into  silence,  or  torture  a  hag  with  neglect  ? 
What  have  I  to  say  ?  This  !  Who  are  you  in  comparison 
with  Mariotti  !  Are  you  better  than  he  ?  He  has  ruled  ; 
he  has  gloried  in  infamy.  You  have  knuckled  down. 
Cowards  !  I  have  lived.  You  have  looked  on.  I  have 
played  my  role  openly.  You  play  your  role  secretly.  I 
claim  I  am  the  better  man  of  the  two.  You  name  me  a 
'  clown'  because  I  have  danced  and  juggled,  because  I 
have  sinned  and  suffered,  because  even  now  I  laugh  in  the 
face  of  defeat,  because  I  show  my  teeth  instead  of  cringing 
at  life  like  those  low  curs  that  pinch  their  tails  between 
their  flanks,  and  go  off  yelping  to  hide  themselves  in  the 
garbage  heap  where  they  belong.  You  are  more  clowns 
than  I.  I  have  loved  life.  You  tremble  at  it.  You  fear 
death.  Know  then — I  defy  it !' ' 

His  grey  lips  were  drawn  tight  across  his  broken  teeth. 
His  eyes  glazed.  Then  they  fixed  in  a  rapturous  stare,  as 
they  were  lifted  towards  the  ceiling.  The  audience  looked 
upwards.  It  saw  nothing  but  an  angular-shaped  sunbeam, 
which  sifted  through  the  half-open  casement,  and  shot  un- 
evenly across  the  dirty  wall.  Mariotti' s  eyes  fixed  glassily 
against  this  evidence  of  God's  bounty.  His  body  worked 
convulsively. 

' '  I  say  I  defy  death, ' '  he  shrieked.  ' '  Let  it  come.  I 
am  not  afraid. ' ' 

There  was  a  brief  pause,  and  a  long,  shuddering,  rattling 
breath. 

A  police  commissioner,  who  had  stood  stolidly  at  the 
back  of  the  witness-box,  now  started  hurriedly  forward. 

342 


THE  ULTIMATUM 

It  was  too  late.  He  had  seen  the  narrow  flash  of  a  steel 
instrument  which  the  clown  swiftly  drew  from  his  hip 
pocket.  With  a  lightning-like  gesture,  supreme  in  its 
record  of  unparalleled  grace  and  energy,  he  had  pointed  it 
directly  at  his  own  heart.  When  he  withdrew  it,  it  was 
red  with  blood. 

Mariotti  fell,  an  inert  mass,  across  the  railing  of  the  wit- 
ness-box. 

As  they  lifted  him,  he  murmured  some  words  which 
were  handed  down  afterwards  to  rogue  posterity  as  evi- 
dence of  a  courage  which,  in  certain  circles,  became 
immortal. 

"Bien  aime'e  la  Mort,"  he  had  whispered,  "tu  es  la 
bienvenue. ' ' 

¥¥ 

CHAPTER    XLIV 

THE   ULTIMATUM 

THE  Ambassador,  Lamballe,  and  Conway  made  their 
way  direct  to  the  Embassy  the  night  of  their  return  from 
the  La  Valli£re  fete.  It  had  been  extended  by  the  greatest 
lady  in  France  to  her  circle  of  aristocratic  acquaintances  to 
announce  an  international  engagement  of  note  in  her  superb 
domain.  It  was  a  day  of  splendor  which  for  unparalleled 
hospitality  was  unforgettable. 

The  three  gentlemen  had  agreed  tacitly  to  re-open  the 
Carembourg  issue  that  night,  and  to  dismiss  it,  one  way  or 
the  other. 

As  they  seated  themselves,  Lamballe  looked  brilliantly 
capable  of  conducting  his  own  campaign  with  verve,  the 
Ambassador's  lips  were  firmly  compressed  in  a  horizontal 
line,  and  Conway' s  sensitive  face  was  flushed.  They  had 

343 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

returned  to  town  with  the  other  one  hundred  and  fifty  of 
Madame  de  Launoy's  illustrious  guests,  in  a  chartered 
train.  They  were  now  closeted,  no  more  formidable 
weapon  in  sight  than  a  globe  of  the  world,  which  Lamballe 
contemplated  with  glistening  eyes  at  the  point  which  re- 
vealed the  quadrangular  map  of  France. 

The  Ambassador,  offering  a  brief  apology,  stood  with 
his  back  to  Lamballe  and  his  step-son-to-be,  opening  some 
letters  which  his  secretary  had  handed  him  as  he  passed 
out  of  the  room  at  a  sign  from  Markoe.  Conway  rolled  a 
cigarette  between  his  long  nervous  fingers.  He  had  prof- 
fered his  cigarette-case  to  Lamballe,  who  had  declined 
partaking  of  its  contents  with  an  impatient  frown.  The 
Parisian  broke  forth  hastily,  as  though  desirous  of  bringing 
matters  to  a  head  without  further  ado. 

' '  I  have  but  one  answer.  You  know  it.  Let  us  termi- 
nate this  matter  here,  devoid  of  bad  blood,  mes  amis." 

The  Ambassador  did  not  turn.  His  thumb  nail  neatly 
inserted  itself  between  the  pointed  flap  of  an  envelope  and 
the  cover.  There  was  the  thin,  sharp  sound  of  paper  tear- 
ing. Then  it  stopped. 

Conway  sat  forward.  The  two  lines  between  his  eyes 
deepened.  He  crossed  one  knee  over  the  other,  brought 
a  closed  fist  down  upon  the  upper  one  noiselessly,  the 
lighted  cigarette  pinched  between  the  first  and  second 
fingers  of  his  hand,  and  said,  lifting  his  other  scooped 
palm  to  the  back  of  his  neck, — 

"  We  don't  ask  any  better  than  to  hear  your  side  of  the 
question  from  your  own  lips,  Lamballe.  Up  to  the  present 
that  opportunity  has  been  denied  us." 

' '  I  told  Monod, ' '  began  Lamballe,  with  a  surprised 
look. 

"Pardon  me.  I  had  not  finished.  From  your  own 
lips,  I  repeat.  We  don't  know  any  better  way  than  that 

344 


THE  ULTIMATUM 

We  don't  do  business  from  any  other  standpoint.  We  are 
a  democratic  nation,  remember.  It  is  our  habit  to  deal  with 
serious  difficulties  at  close  range.  What,  no  doubt,  is  cour- 
tesy to  you,  seems  to  us  impracticable.  You  are  too  square 
a  man  to  wish  to  cripple  us  in  our  foremost  principle. ' ' 

' '  What  is  your  '  foremost  principle'  ?' '  icily. 

1 '  Straightforwardness. ' '  The  retort  direct  was  delivered 
with  flashing  eyes.  Conway  rose.  He  stuffed  both  hands 
obstinately  into  his  pockets,  after  flinging  his  unsmoked 
cigarette  into  the  grate. 

Lamballe  looked  at  him  steadily.  ' '  No  one  could 
accuse  you  of  lacking  in  that  quality,  monsieur." 

"You  mistake  me.     It  is  you  whom  I  accuse." 

Lamballe' s  features  stiffened. 

"Comment,  monsieur!"  he  ejaculated,  as  though  un- 
able to  trust  the  evidence  of  his  senses. 

His  eyes  were  fixed,  a  hurt  astonishment  and  a  reluctant 
admission  in  their  depths,  on  the  stalwart  young  figure  con- 
fronting him.  His  profoundest  faith  was  courage.  But 
youth — albeit  enviable — is  ruthless  always,  he  thought. 

' '  I  refer  to  the  sense  of  duty  that  forces  men  to  meet 
and  state  their  case  shoulder  to  shoulder,  instead  of  util- 
izing an  underling  to  do  their  dirty  work  for  them." 

The  Ambassador  seated  himself,  his  half-read  letters  held 
loosely  in  one  hand.  His  eyes  were  fixed  anxiously  on 
Conway' s  flushed  face.  Conway  continued,  impetuously, — 

' '  Strategy  is  bred  in  the  bone  with  you,  Lamballe,  I 
allow  ;  but  to  us  of  a  quicker  civilization  the  incomprehen- 
sible quantity  is  a  man  who  renounces  his  individual  pre- 
rogative to  fight  the  enemy.  You  rail  at  other  men's  sins 
on  the  stage.  Why  don't  you  try  your  own  hand  in  live 
quarters  ?' ' 

"  I  am  ready."  The  spur  had  evidently  rent  the  quiver- 
ing flesh. 

345 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

"  It  is  time.  It  was  time  six  months  ago.  It  was  time 
four  years  since. ' ' 

Lamballe  lifted  his  hand  imperiously.  ' '  You  asked  me 
here,  then,  not  only  to  listen  to  your  conditions,  but  to 
obey  them  ?' ' 

"We  asked  to  meet  you  frankly  and  openly  to  state 
our  case,  which  governs  a  generous  mutual  advancement 
for  both  parties  concerned.  You  have  eluded  our  ad- 
vances. You  have  frustrated  our  efforts.  You  now  an- 
nounce your  final  decree  as  though  we  were  children 
instead  of  men." 

"  What  more  do  you  require  ?" 

"A  clear  statement  of  your  reasons  for  declining  our 
proposition. ' ' 

' '  I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand  your  translation  of  my 
treatment  of  the  matter.  It  is  considered  more  diplomatic 
to  treat  through  a  third  party,  obviously,  when  the  response 
is  in  the  negative. ' ' 

"  We  don't  want  diplomacy.    State  facts." 

"  You  will  have  it  ?" 

"Try  us." 

Lamballe  rose.  There  was  a  dark,  purple  flush  on  both 
temples.  The  young  voice  acted  like  a  saw  on  his  torn 
prejudices,  but  he  was  a  man  of  parts,  and,  with  the  justice 
for  which  he  was  proverbial,  he  extended  the  benefit  of  the 
doubt  to  his  adversary. 

He,  too,  as  he  put  into  words  his  personal  feelings  on  the 
subject,  recognized  for  the  second  time,  in  this  its  racy 
encounter  with  fresh  air,  his  grievance's  paramount  dis- 
crepancy. 

His  ringing  voice  held  a  metallic  note  as  he  said,  ' '  I 
will  not  sell  my  home.  May  a  man,  then,  tear  his  heart 
from  his  breast  for  daws  to  peck  at  ?  I  say  no.  It  were 
unworthy  of  himself,  and  our  first  duty  is  to  ourselves. 

346 


THE  ULTIMATUM 

Why  should  I  be  required  to  throw  myself  as  a  burnt  offer- 
ing between  two  nations  ?' ' 

' '  You  are  not  suffering  that  highly  sacrificial  test.  Your 
conduct  is  redolent  of  autocracy." 

The  daring  words  were  dauntlessly  delivered.  The  pur- 
ple stain  on  Lamballe's  temples  was  reflected  more  brightly 
in  his  antagonist's  glowing  lips  and  cheeks.  Markoe 
sat  forward,  an  unobserved  spectator.  His  features  looked 
as  though  hewn  in  marble.  His  mouth  was  unreadable  ; 
his  eyes  flashed  from  face  to  face,  craftily  assiduous. 

Lamballe  began  again  as  though  he  had  not  heard  the 
impetuous  interruption. 

"We  French  respect  our  privacy.  This  seems,  no 
doubt,  antediluvian  to  you  of  a  less  sensitive  organism, 
but  so  it  is.  Had  you  inherited,  as  I  have,  race,  an  old 
name,  and  a  vast  principality,  you  might  comprehend  why 
the  born  imperialist  is  far  more  radical  than  the  made  one." 

' '  A  guardian  of  ancestral  acres  more  faithful  or  more 
loving  than  the  man  who  has  earned  place  with  the  sweat 
of  his  brow  !  A  free  soil  graduate  with  the  world  for 
arena  possessed  of  a  less  emphatic  sense  of  meum  et 
tuum  than  the  inheritor.  I  deny  it.  Your  theory  is  un- 
tenable." 

"You  have  the  ignorance  of  youth, — and  its  impu- 
dence." 

"And  you  the  privilege  of  magnanimity, — which  you 
renounce. ' ' 

There  was  a  live  pause. 

Lamballe  continued  hoarsely,  his  face  fixed  steadily 
towards  the  globe  in  front  of  him — the  blue  green  quad- 
rangular square  dancing  before  his  strained  eyes  like  a 
blood  spot  on  the  sun.  "Voyons!  Here,  then,  is  a 
sample  of  my  love  of  home  and  country.  You  are  aware 
of  my  revolt  against  everything  connected  with  the  Franco- 

347 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

Prussian  war,  yet  rather  than  renounce  one  iota  of  my 
hatred  for  our  enemy,  I  place  myself,  as  it  were,  at  the 
very  gate  of  that  heart-rending  memory.  It  is  crucifixion, 
mais  que  voulez-vous?  When  one's  martyrdom  is  volun- 
tary then  alone  is  it  bearable. ' ' 

"You  are  a  good  hater,"  ejaculated  Conway,  with  a  re- 
sponsive gleam  in  his  eye  ;  ' '  but  men,  I  am  told,  have 
done  more  through  love." 

His  opponent  sighed.  He  was  too  old  and  wise  to  gain- 
say truth. 

"  You  claim  you  are  advancing  your  country's  interests. 
I  claim  you  are  defeating  them.  At  last  we  are  biting  the 
bone  of  our  contention." 

' '  How  am  I  '  defeating'  them  ?' '  sarcastically,  with  an 
uncontrolled  look  of  fury.  ' '  You  are  bold  indeed,  mon- 
sieur, to  accuse  Lamballe  !" 

"In  your  obstinate  clutch  of  a  voluntary  martyrdom, 
you  accord  Prussia  a  right  which,  if  you  were  the  patriot 
you  claim  to  be,  you  would  throw  your  bleeding  body  into 
the  gap  before  conceding. ' ' 

Lamballe' s  features  stiffened.  His  black  eyes  gleamed 
with  an  apprehensive  light. 

"I  do  not  understand."  The  Parisian  swung  his  hand 
around  back  of  him  unsteadily,  drew  forward  a  fauteuil, 
and  fell  into  it. 

Conway' s  face,  for  one  instant,  quivered  sympathetically. 
His  tone  lost  some  of  its  incisive  quality  as  he  continued. 
' '  We  offer  you  as  rich  a  privilege  as  any  yet  backed  by 
our  government,  and  that  is  saying  a  great  deal.  The 
price  is  fair.  Your  deposit  is  the  largest  in  the  world. 
Our  need  is  imperative.  It  is  a  pity  that  Prussia,  to  whose 
interest  we  are  indifferent,  should  profit  through  your 
prejudice  alone, — and  by  so  doing  excite  France's  bitter 
mortification. ' ' 

348 


MYOU    ARE    BOLD    INDEED,  MONSIEUR,  TO    ACCUSE    LAMBALLE" 


THE  ULTIMATUM 

Lamballe  lifted  his  right  hand,  and  drew  it  in  a  puzzled 
fashion  across  his  brow.  He  was  very  pale.  "  I  do  not 
understand, ' '  he  reiterated,  huskily.  ' '  Explain,  monsieur. 
Je  vous  en  prie — explain. ' ' 

"If  we  cannot  convince  you,  we  must  deal  with  Prussia." 

"  What  has  she  to  do  with  it  ?"  agitatedly. 

' '  The  chalk  extends  across  the  border,  monsieur. ' ' 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  Then  Lamballe  said  in  a 
spent  voice,  extending  his  shaking  fingers,  ' '  Proof  ?' ' 

Conway  walked  towards  the  table,  opened  the  drawer, 
and  handed  the  roll  containing  Burgess's  report  to  him 
without  a  word. 

Lamballe  unfolded  it,  his  hands  trembling  violently. 

1 '  It  would  be  like  the  irony  of  fate, ' '  remarked  Conway 
colloquially,  after  a  few  moments,  in  which  Lamballe  had 
painfully  perused  the  paper  before  him,  folded  it  carefully, 
and  replaced  it  upon  the  table. 

The  interim  had  registered  but  one  slight  sound.  Brave 
men  have  released  their  hold  on  love  and  life  with  just  such 
a  sigh. 

Lamballe' s  arm,  which  had  hung  limply  over  the  back 
of  his  chair  for  the  past  few  seconds,  fell  heavily  to  his 
knee.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  vacancy.  His  features 
were  contracted  oddly.  He  wore  the  expression  which 
stamped  the  countenance  of  that  denouncer  of  treason  who 
contemplated  the  murder  of  his  son — a  traitor — without 
the  quiver  of  an  eyelash. 

"  Prussia  may  not  have  it?"     The  voice  was  Conway's. 

"No,"  came  the  response  instantly,  sharply  resonant. 
' '  She  is  the  cancer  in  our  national  heart.  She  must  not 
laugh  at  us — again.  Bid  your  laborers  come  over.  I  will 
meet  you  half-way. ' ' 

Conway  walked  across  the  room  to  where  the  Ambassa- 
dor stood.  He  had  risen.  His  back  was  towards  his 

349 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

foreign  guest.     As  Conway  came  towards  him  he  looked 
up. 

There  is  no  sweeter  foretaste  of  heaven  than  the  ' '  well 
done  good  and  faithful  servant' '  glimmer  in  the  eyes  of  a 
friend. 

' '  It  has  been  like  tearing  out  my  heart, ' '  vouchsafed 
Lamballe  an  hour  later,  after  the  contract  had  been  drawn 
up  and  signed.  ' '  I  have  been  burned  between  two  fires  ; 
hate  and  love.  Surprisingly  enough,  they  have  both  con- 
quered here.  I  wonder,  have  you  ever  noticed  in  the  tower 
at  Carembourg,  as  you  drove  across  the  bridge  that  spans 
the  moat,  a  queer  oblong  projectile  imbedded  in  a  wedge 
of  plaster  between  the  granite  blocks  ?  That  shell  came 
from  the  enemy's  guns.  Its  shadow  dwells  in  my  heart." 

The  Ambassador  contemplated  his  former  antagonist  im- 
perturbably. 

' '  I  had  heard  you  were  noble  even  in  defeat, ' '  he 
stated. 

Lamballe  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  he  took  up  his  hat. 

"  An  exalted  niche  I  may  not  fill,"  he  protested,  sadly. 
' '  This  is  a  case  of  '  faute  de  mieux. '  ' 

As  he  passed  over  the  threshold,  and  the  door  closed 
behind  him,  Conway  swung  across  the  room,  snatched  his 
gripsack  from  a  chair,  placed  his  hat  on  his  head,  and  ex- 
tended his  hand  towards  the  Ambassador. 

"Off?"  inquired  Markoe. 

' '  More, ' '  returned  Conway,  very  gravely.  ' '  Straight 
on,  please  God  !" 


35<> 


MARKOE'S  STORY 


CHAPTER  XLV 
MARKOE'S  STORY 

IT  was  two  A.M.  Markoe  had  been  just  about  to  extin- 
guish the  light  and  cross  the  hall  to  his  sleeping  chamber 
to  retire,  when  his  wife  entered,  and  closed  the  door  softly 
behind  her. 

She  was  acting  on  an  uncontrollable  impulse. 

Conway  had  gone.  Already  he  was  speeding  towards 
Southampton.  He  had  made  off  opportunely,  jubilant,  no 
doubt,  over  the  triumph  derived  from  his  final  interview 
with  his  country's  immutable  antagonist.  He  was  eager  to 
be  doing  ;  of  that  she  was  certain.  The  cloud,  which  had 
been  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand,  had  faded  away  from 
his  horizon  forever.  Manlike,  he  had  gotten  off  scot-free. 
She,  the  woman,  remained  to  face  the  storm.  The  time 
had  come  for  her  to  confirm  her  decision  so  daringly 
launched  some  months  since. 

As  she  stood  hesitating — the  Ambassador  had  risen,  he 
was  regarding  her  curiously — there  suddenly  sprang  to  life 
in  her  a  great  longing  to  rid  her  spirit  of  the  burden  which 
had  been  consuming  her  for  weeks  ;  the  secret  of  Conway' s 
mad  act,  and  her  own  guile.  All  her  staunch  support,  as 
regarded  her  friend' s  weakness,  vanished  before  her  loyalty 
to  the  man  who,  so  patiently,  had  borne  with  her  whims, 
while  knowing  of  her  determination  to  leave  him  forever. 

They  stood  face  to  face  now,  both  abashed,  both  aware 
that  the  time  had  come  when  nothing  stood  between  their 
solving  of  a  problem  which  had  rolled  up,  without  their 
volition,  on  their  hearthstone  ;  which  only  a  mutual  under- 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

standing  might  once  have  put  out,  she  thought.  Even 
that  hope  was  over  now,  though  ! 

He  considered,  sadly,  if  he  might  have  discovered  some 
new  method  to  win  her  love,  this  anguished  hour  had 
never  been  his.  He  had  been  a  dolt  to  have  supposed  a 
woman  might  be  won  by  either  care  or  judgment.  The 
complex  creatures  were  beyond  his  ken. 

She  wondered,  bitterly,  why  the  embers  of  what  she  had 
intended  should  burn  up  into  perpetual  flame,  had  declared 
themselves  so  mercilessly,  and  so  soon. 

' '  I  came  here  to  tell  you  that  I  think  the  time  has  come, 
Stephen,  in  which  to  bid  you  good-bye, ' '  she  began  very 
quietly,  in  that  hushed  tone  persons  adopt  when  they 
know  they  are  attacking  a  subject  that  contains  elements 
which  hitherto  they  have  deemed  it  wiser  to  appear  to 
ignore. 

Wordlessly  he  confronted  her.  In  after  years  they  re- 
membered that  in  that  hour  they  had  stood  face  to  face, 
their  limbs  rigid,  their  hearts  beating  in  dull,  marked 
strokes  that  clutched  fast  at  their  breath  and  blanched 
their  cheeks  and  lips. 

He  had  no  answer  ready  for  her.  A  man  may  not  plead 
in  a  moment  like  this.  His  pride  or  his  reason,  or  both, 
forbid  it.  He  felt  all  along  that  what  was  offered  him  he 
would  accept  gladly — did  a  Divine  Providence  will  it  that 
his  lines  should  fall  in  pleasant  places,  instead  of  bald  or 
shallow  ones.  But  he  could  not  demand  the  impossible. 
He  knew  love  might  or  might  not  be.  That  when  it  is,  it 
overflows  all  lesser  things,  and  submerges  pain  and  loss 
and  grief  in  a  tidal  wave  of  bliss  unspeakable.  He  knew 
when  it  is  not,  the  famished  land  lies  as  though  stricken  by 
a  pestilence,  defunct  ! 

"Before  I  go,"  she  said, — the  musical  voice  was  very 
low  and  clear,  the  great  mournful  eyes  wide  and  dry  ;  she 

352 


MARKOE'S  STORY 

was  wept  out,  she  thought,  as  she  dimly  wondered  at  her 
strange  calm  in  this  moment  she  had  dreaded  for  so  long, — 
' '  I  wish  to  tell  you  that  in  a  measure  I  have  deceived  you. ' ' 

He  raised  his  hand  involuntarily,  to  bid  her  hush,  but 
she  continued  steadily.  "Don't  check  me.  In  this  con- 
fession which  I  consider  it  is  my  duty  to  make  to  you,  I 
think  you  will  discover  much  that  will  explain  some  inepti- 
tudes in  past  matters  which  you  have  not  imagined.  But 
before  I  speak  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  will  forgive  you 
now  and  always,  if  you  despise  me  for  the  weakness  I  am 
about  to  reveal.  A  man  like  you  may  not  understand  it. 
A  woman  would." 

She  stirred  a  little  restlessly.     Then  she  went  on. 

He  had  folded  his  arms  resignedly.  He  was  looking  at 
her  intently. 

' '  I  think  perhaps  men  do  not  imagine  how  women  come 
to  them  when  they  marry, ' '  she  explained.  ' ' '  They  have 
not — have  they  been  as  I  was — loved  before.  They  may 
not  love  again.  They  fancy  that,  with  the  marriage  ser- 
vice, all  desire  to  be  appreciated,  unless  in  their  husband's 
eyes,  will  be  stilled  forever.  But  after  a  time,  when  the 
first  grade  of  matrimony  is  a  thing  of  the  past, — the  first 
grade  in  which  the  woman  gives  all  recklessly,  voluntarily, 
and  asks  nothing  in  return,  if  she  is  wise,  but  present  faith 
and  like  purity, — she  comes  into  the  consciousness  that 
she  is  the  same  woman  she  was  before  she  vowed  herself 
forever  to  the  being  who  may  make  her  happiness  or  her  un- 
doing. She  discovers  herself  guilty  of  the  same  old  aspi- 
rations which  assailed  her  girlhood,  of  the  same  weak- 
nesses, of  the  identical  capacities,  especially  so  if  life  falls 
into  the  humdrum  groove  of  daily  events  ;  if  she  is  made 
to  feel  it  is  but  her  duty  to  love,  to  honor,  and  to  obey,  I 
mean,  if  her  steadfast  allegiance  is  taken  as  a  matter  of 
course.  That  is  where  the  shoe  begins  to  pinch.  This 
23  353 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

was  the  cause  of  my  unrest  in  our  case.  I  felt  nothing  I 
could  do  you  would  consider  anything  but  the  natural 
sequence  of  my  vow  to  love,  to  honor,  and  to  obey  ;  that 
the  desire  for  admiration  which  I  crushed  out,  the  love  of 
power  which  I  renounced,  the  independence  of  letting  my 
fancy  flow  towards  the  thing  which  promised  it  the  most 
pleasure  and  the  least  pain,  would  be,  in  your  estimation, 
comprised  collectively  in  the  correct  translation  of  what  is 
denominated  conjugal  duty.  With  women,  as  with  men, 
the  consciousness  of  doing  right  is  not  enough.  We  need 
the  stimulus  of  our  husband's  approval ;  the  knowledge 
that  he  recognizes  our  self-denials.  Otherwise  we  are  no 
more  than  the  truck  horse  that  staggers  on,  daily  more 
sodden,  under  the  conviction  that  he  is  neither  understood 
nor  noticed.  Hitherto  I  have  been  too  proud  or  too  im- 
patient to  tell  you  of  this.  I  have  only  let  out — in  fits  of 
temper,  of  which  I  have  always  afterwards  felt  bitterly 
ashamed — my  conviction  that  you  did  not  love  me — at 
least,  as  other  men  love  their  wives.  I  know  compari- 
sons are  odious — but  there  are  things  more  odious.  One 
of  them  is  to  reach  out  towards  an  unknown  sphere,  trust- 
ing to  find  within  it  what  has  been  denied  one  elsewhere. 
That  is  a  fault  intrinsically  womanly.  It  began  with 
Eve." 

She  stopped  momentarily.  Her  words  came  so  fast  that 
she  was  obliged  to  check  herself  every  now  and  then,  as 
though  to  smooth  out  her  reasoning  and  bring  its  meaning 
more  forcibly  to  a  point. 

' '  I  think  it  was  because  at  home  I  always  found  you 
either  intent  upon  a  sort  of  aftermath  of  municipal  affairs, 
or  wearied  with  the  day' s  doings,  or  impatient  at  my  eager- 
ness to  find  you  as  I  once  had  found  you,  tender,  atten- 
tive, that  I  gradually  grew  to  demanding  of  others  what 
you  denied  me — sympathy,  and  what  seemed  like  complete 

354 


MARKOE'S   STORY 

understanding.  It  was  an  insignificant  and  perhaps  un- 
worthy detail  upon  which  to  wreck  one's  record  of  clear 
reasoning  ;  but  there  have  been  even  more  infinitesimal 
details  utilized  to  widen  the  gap  of  woman's  heart  hunger 
— and  with  graver  results.  Things  were  at  the  stage  I 
mention  when  you  chose  Jack  Conway  to  come  into  our 
midst.  He  sympathized  with  my  whims.  He  foresaw  my 
wants.  He  was  sunny ;  he  was  not  so  absorbed  with 
mental  preoccupation  that  everything  else  escaped  him, 
even  the  caprices  of  a  woman  who  was  nothing  to  him  but 
his  friend's  wife.  I  don't  think  you  can  imagine  what  he 
became  to  me  ;  he  was  my  comrade,  my  playmate,  my  ad- 
vocate. He  was  the  companion  I  had  hungered  for,  and 
had  not  found  in  the  place  where  I  needed  you.  He  did 
not  scornfully  rebuke  my  love  of  enjoyment.  He  encour- 
aged it.  He  made  up  to  me  partially  for  what  you  denied. 
I  did  not  see,  at  first,  that  I  was  doing  him  any  harm.  I 
was  selfish.  I  could  not  consider  that  what  to  me  was  only 
a  pastime  was  becoming  to  him  his  daily  portion.  I  am 
sure  he  did  not  realize  it,  either,  until  that  night  came  when 
all  the  truth  flashed  out,  and  I  saw  things  as  they  were." 

The  Ambassador's  head  had  fallen  forward  on  his  breast. 
Did  his  attitude  express  the  fact  that  he  had  determined 
to  look  away  from  her  in  order  to  spare  her  pain  ?  Singu- 
larly enough,  the  thought  irritated  her. 

"I  wish,"  she  flashed  out,  with  a  fierceness  which 
startled  her  listener,  ' '  that  you  would  look  straight  at  me 
while  I  am  telling  you  this  story.  /  am  not  ashamed. 
You  need  not  be." 

She  confronted  him  proudly  as  he  fixed  his  eyes  upon 
her  once  more.  One  hand  had  stolen  out  ;  it  gripped  fast 
the  corner  of  a  small  table  against  which  she  stood. 

For  all  response  to  her  momentary  unjust  onslaught  he 
only  raised  his  lids,  and  looked  back  at  her  mildly. 

355 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

"That  night  was  the  night  of  the  Launoy  ball,"  she 
explained,  a  little  feverishly.  "Jack  met  Mariotti,  donned 
his  costume,  and  came  there  in  a  disguise,  he  said,  to  as- 
sure himself  that  Lamballe  was  in  Paris  before  he — Jack — 
set  to  work  to  pursue  his  search  unmolested  concerning 
the  whereabouts  of  the  chalk  stratum.  I  told  you  this  be- 
fore— but  I  left  out  the  fact  that  from  some  emotion  I  saw 
imprinted  on  his  face,  I  discovered  he  had  returned  to 
Paris  to  see  me.  The  knowledge  of  this,  instead  of  in- 
spiring me  with  disgust,  filled  me  with  a  delightful  sense  of 
power.  I  pitied,  I  despised  him,  but  I  temporarily  adored 
myself,  until  I  saw  what  my  elation  might  lead  him  to  sup- 
pose. Perhaps  in  that  one  mad  moment  he  thought  I 
might  return  his  passion  ;  but  only  in  that  one.  It  was  a 
moment  which  he  has  bitterly  repented  since  ;  which  he 
had  not  forestalled,  rather  left  weakly  unimagined.  When 
he  grasped  the  fact  that  I  only  gave  him  scorn  in  return 
for  his  acknowledgment — subsequent  upon  my  furious  ac- 
cusation that  he  had  come  up  to  Paris  because  he  could 
not  remain  away  from  me — he  awoke  to  the  consciousness 
of  all  his  mad  act  might  imply.  I,  too.  I  don't  know 
what  I  said  to  him — exactly.  I  used  terms  incommensu- 
rate with  the  crime  he  aspired  to — only  aspired  to,  and  that 
vaguely.  All  along,  though,  alongside  my  furious  on- 
slaught, my  forcing  his  wickedness  out  to  light — in  order 
to  more  clearly  accentuate  with  its  disclosure  my  strength 
as  opposed  to  his  lack  of  it — I  was  conscious  that  his  com- 
plete subjugation  made  me  glad,  glad,  glad  !  It  meant 
that — if  you  might  not  love  me — he  did.  That,  after  all,  I 
was  not  a  put-on-the-shelf,  but  a  woman,  with  a  woman's 
power  to  win,  a  woman's  right  to  make  or  unmake  men. 
With  this  there  came  to  me  afterwards,  with  a  terrible, 
merciless  insistence  which  I  could  not  beat  off,  the  con- 
sciousness that  just  because  I  am  a  woman  must  I  despise 

356 


MARKOE'S  STORY 

myself  for  rejoicing  in  the  fact  that  I  could  make  another 
suffer.  But  that  came  later.  I  sent  him  from  me  then. 
I  told  him  I  never  wished  to  look  upon  his  face  again.  I 
meant  it.  He  will  always  recall  to  me  an  overpowering 
memory  of  my  own  most  reprehensible  vainglory." 

She  swayed  a  little.  She  had  paused  and  lifted  the  other 
hand,  and  had  laid  it  against  the  one  which  rested  against 
the  table.  As  she  did  this  she  leaned  forward  a  little, 
pleadingly.  The  light  from  the  lamp  below  her  cast  a 
warm  glow  into  her  liquid,  sorrowful  eyes,  and  made  the 
curves  of  her  lips  curl  outwards. 

' '  He  left  me  finally — after  I  had  exhausted  myself  en- 
deavoring impotently  enough  to  express  my  contempt  for 
him.  I  was  afraid  he  might  not  be  sure  of  it.  It  was  all 
my  fault,  though.  I  have  known  that  since.  The  sequel 
is  to  be  my  just  punishment.  Inasmuch  as  I  deserved  the 
blame,  which  I  have  all  along  known  must  be  my  portion 
as  far  as  you  are  concerned  when  you  learned  the  truth,  I 
have  never  deceived  myself,  you  may  well  imagine,  in  this 
particular."  She  stopped. 

The  Ambassador  had  raised  one  hand  imperiously,  as 
though  to  bid  her  discontinue  her  asides.  She  ignored  the 
gesture  rebelliously.  ' '  I  will  not  be  long,"  she  said,  gently, 
in  answer  to  his  distressed  look. 

"  As  he  went — I  shall  never  forget  the  shame  in  his  face 
if  I  live  to  be  a  thousand  years  old, ' '  she  interpolated  im- 
pulsively, ' '  he  said  '  good-bye  forever  !'  He  could  not 
withstand  that  I  had  used  one  word  in  regard  to  him. 
That  word  was  '  Coward. '  I  had  also  reminded  him  of 
you.  I  don't  know  why,  as  soon  as  he  left,  I  was  assailed 
with  an  awful  dread  that  I  had  sent  him  to  perdition. 
When  you  told  me  he  had  mysteriously  disappeared,  I  at 
once  concluded  that  he  had  put  an  end  to  himself — on  my 
account.  A  vain  supposition,  was  it  not  ?  In  spite  of  a 

357 


A   NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

cynicism,  which  I  took  good  care  to  foster  in  all  those 
awful  weeks  when  I  so  vainly  strove  to  force  Mariotti  to 
place  him  in  my  hands,  I  was  consumed  with  that  one 
awful  thought — that  Jack  Conway  had  loved  me,  and  that 
I  had  unwittingly  sent  him  to  his  doom.  The  idea  pur- 
sued me  night  and  day.  It  harrowed  my  waking  hours 
and  haunted  my  sleeping  ones.  Only  after  it  had  faded 
out — he  told  me,  I  asked  him,  that  what  I  said  to  him  had 
absolutely  nothing  to  do  with  leading  him  into  the  midst 
of  his  enemies — then  I  knew  how  foolish  I  had  been.  In- 
stead of  being  the  woman  you  had  imagined  me,  I  was 
nothing  but  a  vain,  spoiled,  wilful  insufficiency.  I  could 
not  go  away  without  telling  you  the  truth,  and  asking  your 
forgiveness. ' ' 

She  had  moved  around  the  table  which  had  stood  be- 
tween them.  She  stood  now  at  his  side.  He  could  hear 
her  rustling  garments.  He  inhaled  the  odor  of  a  subtle 
sandal-wood  scent  she  made  use  of. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  she  burst  forth,  self-accusingly,  "  that 
the  last  evidence  of  my  unfaith  is  to  reveal  to  you  Jack's 
deceit.  You  trusted  him  so  !  It  will  rob  you  forever  of 
the  esteem  you  had  garnered  up  for  him.  I  wonder, 
Stephen,"  very  wistfully,  "if,  when  I  am  gone,  you  will 
not,  for  the  sake  of  that  love  we  once  thought  might  out- 
last a  lifetime,  forgive  him  ?  It  was  my  fault.  He  ac- 
knowledges now  that  it  was  merely  a  temporary  coup  de 
t6te.  He  has  asked  me  to  forget  it. ' ' 

"  And  you  go  where?"  asked  Markoe's  voice.  He  was 
standing  quite  close  to  her,  looking  down  at  her  soberly, 
intently.  She  was  such  a  slender  young  thing.  The  soft, 
mutinous  face  had  altered  ;  it  now  was  set  and  wan.  She 
was  steadily  confronting  an  unknown  destiny  as  fearlessly 
as  an  infant. 

She  looked  back  at  him  a  little  waveringly.  ' '  I  think  I 

358 


MARKOE'S  STORY 

will  go,  and  begin  again  somewhere — alone,"  she  mur- 
mured brokenly.  Her  lips  shook  visibly.  She  fumblingly 
turned  the  leaves  of  a  book  which  had  lain  at  her  elbow. 
Her  eyelids  were  downcast. 

"It  will  be  a  nine-days'  wonder,"  remarked  Markoe, 
calmly.  "  It  is  unfortunate  that  we  could  not  have  arranged 
the  matter  a  trifle  less  radically.  Why  have  you  told  me 
this?" 

The  former  part  of  his  speech  had  been  ice  cold.  The 
latter  shot  forth  like  a  projectile  from  the  mouth  of  a  cata- 
pult. 

She  looked  up  at  him  instantly  ;  her  eyes  wells  of  truth  ; 
her  lips  still  quivering  a  little. 

"  I  knew  of  no  other  way  but  honesty,"  she  said.  "  I 
could  not  leave  you  in  the  dark.  It  has  seemed  to  me,  all 
along,  that  it  would  be  hardly  square. ' ' 

' '  Would  my  contempt,  then,  be  so  insupportable  to 
you?" 

"  I  think  it  might  kill  me,  were  I  obliged  to  exist  under 
it  for  long. ' ' 

He  moved  up  to  her  with  a  strange,  guarded  look  in  his 
face. 

' '  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you, ' '  he  asked,  huskily,  ' '  that 
had  you  not  told  me  all  this,  I  might  have  felt  the  same 
towards  you  ?' ' 

' '  No.  I  should  not  have  allowed  you  to  do  that.  It 
would  not  have  been  fair. ' '  The  answer  was  as  simple  as 
a  child's.  Rather  a  just  contrition  than  kindness  which 
had  ignorance  for  its  root. 

"If  you  expressed  the  desire  for  me  to  efface  it,"  he 
said,  shortly,  "  I  might  do  so." 

"Efface  !" 

The  word  was  a  whisper.  It  seemed  to  them  both  that 
it  shot  forth  from  a  distant  corner  of  the  room. 

359 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

He  explained  quickly.  ' '  My  '  contempt. '  Yes.  If  it 
existed,  if  it  had  ever  existed — which  it  has  not.  You 
have  been  just,"  he  added,  very  gently.  "Why  should 
you  not  have  given  me  credit  for  as  much  ?' ' 

"As  much?" 

The  tears  were  slowly  mounting  in  her  wide,  startled 
eyes.  She  feebly  strove  to  lift  her  hand  to  dry  them.  He 
caught  the  little,  tender,  fragrant  thing  in  his  strong  fingers, 
on  the  way. 

At  the  physical  contact  she  began  to  tremble  fearfully. 

"If  you  hold  me,"  she  faltered  in  a  queer,  choked 
voice,  "  I  cannot  promise  to  be  brave." 

"Suppose  that  you  give  up  that,  too,"  he  suggested  in 
a  tone  that — it  was  plainly  evident — he  was  striving  to  make 
commonplace.  She  now  gazed  straight  into  his  face.  As 
she  looked,  the  havoc  wrought  there  within  the  past  few 
weeks  sprang  out  and  made  her  cry  agitatedly. 

"  You  !  Oh,  it  cannot  be,  it  must  not  be,  that  you  have 
suffered,  too." 

With  a  strong  gesture  he  pushed  her,  very  gently,  far 
from  him,  still  holding  her  fast,  as  though  he  wished  to  im- 
print every  shade  of  her  wistful  face  upon  his  heart.  Into 
his  eyes  had  come  that  powerful,  luminous  look  which  she 
had  surprised  once,  and  never  forgotten.  It  seemed  to 
envelop  her.  As  she  took  cognizance  of  it,  her  anguish 
faded  out.  In  its  place  grew  a  quickening  of  divine  peace 
which  folded  its  wings  and  settled  down  :  a  snow-white 
messenger  straight  from  God. 

As  he  looked  and  noted  the  change  in  her,  the  painfully 
slender  figure  drooping  in  its  helpless,  womanish  avowal  of 
discouragement,  Markoe.  dropped  her  hand.  With  a  mag- 
nificent possessive  gesture,  supreme  in  the  acknowledgment 
it  contained  of  self-revealment,  he  held  out  both  his  arms. 

"  Come,"  he  whispered. 

360 


MARKOE'S  STORY 

Her  eyes  had  cleared  by  this.  Slowly,  very  slowly,  a 
little  unsteadily,  the  way  a  child  tries  its  first  steps  towards 
its  mother,  she  walked  forward  and  laid  her  two  hands 
against  his.  But  as  she  did  so,  with  the  gesture  she  still 
too  held  him  away  from  her.  The  ecstacy  of  his  touch 
had  almost  undone  her.  The  burning  avowal  in  his  regard 
was  completing  its  work. 

Her  face  melted  into  the  sweetest  appeal. 

' '  You  must  tell  me  if  you  have  known  the  whole  truth 
all  along  ?' '  she  whispered  in  an  awe-stricken  tone. 

"Yes." 

' '  All  my  weakness,  all  his  confusion,  all  our  shame  ?' ' 

"Yes." 

4 '  And  you  have  not  spoken  ?' ' 

"Wherefore?" 

It  was  half  an  hour  later.  She  had  drawn  a  stool  to  his 
feet.  Her  head  lay  back  against  his  breast,  within  the  cir- 
clet of  his  arms.  The  luminous  look  still  reigned  in  his 
eyes.  Her  face  seemed  lit  up  by  a  light  from  some  un- 
known sphere. 

"Stephen,"  she  murmured,  "say  it  again,  over  and 
over  and  over  again.  Don' t  take  it  for  granted  that  I  know 
it.  Don't  presume  that  I  have  grown  weary  of  too  much 
loving.  Tell  it  to  me  every  day  anew.  I  cannot  realize 
that  you  have  loved  me  like  this  all  along.  Why  have 
you  not  spoken  ?' ' 

Very  tenderly  he  took  the  lovely  head  within  the  shaping 
of  his  broad  palms. 

"  Love  may  not  speak  enough,"  he  vouchsafed. 

' '  What,  then,  shall  it  do  ?' '  insistently. 

"Act,  and  be  thankful." 


361 


A   NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

CHAPTER  XLVI 
OUR  AMBASSADOR'S  REPORT 

THE  scene  is  the  Executive  Mansion.  The  report  is 
made  over  in  the  same  room  in  which  a  previous  interview 
had  taken  place  between  the  President  and  Markoe  some 
four  years  back.  The  season  is  winter  ;  the  atmosphere 
muggy :  Washington  devoid  of  ozone.  There  is  the  bustle 
of  office  suggested  by  the  President's  haggard  features. 
The  head  of  the  nation  sits  behind  a  writing  table  in  the 
middle  of  the  room. 

Stephen  Markoe  is  seated.     He  is  speaking  rapidly. 

"Yes,"  in  response  to  a  question  from  his  chief.  "I 
left  them  all  working  there  happily.  Since  Lamballe 
signed  his  lasting  agreement  with  us,  he  can't  stop  away 
from  the  place.  He  says  he  has  an  interest  in  life  now  ; 
life  with  blood  and  tissue  in  it.  He  seeks  no  longer  to 
make  intellectual  provender  of  vice  as  he  did,  when  a 
stickler  for  a  fairer  translation  of  living,  he  pointed  his 
moral  by  condemning  dramatically  popular,  if  hollow,  fads. 
He  considers  his  American  wife  a  goddess.  They  reign 
over  their  domain  like  a  king  and  queen  whose  subjects 
are  their  slaves.  He  has  a  positive  genius  for  organizing. 
He  now  daily,  hourly,  seeks  to  strengthen  the  means, 
rights,  and  interests  of  the  little  colony  in  the  valley  below 
him.  Whether  or  no  he  experiences  the  keen  satisfaction, 
which  I  should  imagine  must  be  his,  at  thus  flaunting  pros- 
perity before  the  eyes  of  his  enemies,  I  cannot  determine. 
Lamballe  is  a  nobleman  in  the  best  sense  of  the  term." 

' '  How  did  he  accept  his  defeat  ?' ' 

"We  cannot  name  it  defeat  precisely  can  we,  and  be 

362 


OUR  AMBASSADOR'S  REPORT 

quite  just  ?  He  was  made  to  see  reason,  that  is  all.  When 
I  arrived  in  France,  and  realized  Lamballe  and  his  will  to 
comprise  our  foremost  obstacle,  I  set  to  work  to  also  under- 
stand his  weak  point.  If  the  weak  point  is  not  vanity  in 
the  male  sex  it  is  very  apt  to  be  sentimentality.  Senti- 
mentality was  Lamballe' s  flabbiest  ingredient.  We  elected 
to  fight  him  out  on  it.  We  won." 

' '  Was  your  ultimatum  exhaustively  discussed  ?' ' 
' '  I  offered  but  one  solution  ;  a  mutual  benefit  for  both 
parties  concerned." 

"  Was  your  proposal  presented  in  the  form  of  a  threat?" 
"  Not  exactly.  Such  a  treatment  would  have  been  in- 
significant, would  it  not  ?  Conway  administered  the  supreme 
test.  He  is  the  man  whom  I  took  over  with  me  to  aid  us. 
Burgess  made  the  survey,  however,  after  all,  without  his 
assistance  ;  for  during  that  time  Conway  lay  almost  hope- 
lessly ill.  When  he  recovered,  Burgess  placed  the  report 
in  our  hands  and  returned  to  America.  To  indicate  to  you 
how  much  sentiment  is  permitted  to  prevail  within  the 
limits  of  a  so-called  business  transaction  in  France,  I  wish 
to  cite  one  particular  concerning  that  chalk  dispute.  When 
we  finally  induced  Lamballe  to  accept  our  terms,  or  else 
force  us  to  treat  with  Prussia,  we  naturally,  upon  his  ac- 
quiescence, bade  him  confirm  Burgess's  report.  This  he 
refused  to  do.  He  considered  it  '  a  breach  of  etiquette, '  he 
announced,  to  do  less  than  believe  in  our  honesty.  We 
insisted.  He  declined.  We  deplored  his  ingenuousness 
for  his  own  sake — reflecting  that  if  he  ever  were  led  into 
treating  with  persons  of  less  upright  calibre,  he  might  be 
undone.  We  accepted  his  decree." 

Markoe  paused.  He  lifted  his  hand  to  his  pocket.  His 
eyes  twinkled  oddly — a  rare  thing  with  this  servant  of  the 
government  who  was  quoted  almost  totally  devoid  of 
humor.  He  continued,  his  voice  taking  on  a  lively  tone 

363 


A  NEW   RACE   DIPLOMATIST 

which  held  the  President's  attention  the  way  a  magnet  at- 
tracts steel. 

4 '  You  may  well  imagine  my  surprise  just  before  quitting 
France  to  receive  the  following  letter  from  Conway.  He 
went  West  immediately  after  our  transaction  was  termi- 
nated." 

Markoe  drew  a  folded  paper  from  his  pocket.  He  un- 
folded it  in  a  leisurely  manner.  Then  he  laid  it  on  his 
knee,  cleared  his  throat  portentously,  that  unusual  twinkle 
broadening  a  trifle  in  his  eyes,  placed  his  glasses  across  the 
bridge  of  his  nose — preparatory  to  reading  the  letter  aloud 
— and  said,  as  though  inserting  an  after- thought, — 

1 '  Conway  is  the  average  type  of  New  Yorker  who  stag- 
gers under  the  weight  of  rank  prosperity  for  a  time,  and 
then  shakes  it  off,  takes  his  individual  privilege  between 
his  teeth,  and  fights  for  his  birthright  to  defeat  obstacles. 
He  detests  being  foiled.  Perhaps  he  does  not  stand  alone 
in  this  particular." 

' '  Our  constitution  may  be  said  to  consist  of  as  much, ' ' 
interpolated  the  President,  dryly. 

1 '  In  the  first  part  of  our  assumption  of  foreign  affairs 
we  were  accused  more  than  once  of  lack  of  diplomacy.  I, 
being  a  novice,  did  not  gainsay  the  accusation,  nor  did  I 
ever  hint  to  Conway  that  he  should  do  so.  As  I  said, 
latterly  I  received  this  letter." 

He  ran  his  glance  over  the  opening  lines,  fixed  the  frame 
of  his  glasses  more  firmly  upon  the  bridge  of  his  nose,  and 
began,— 

"  '  I  met  Burgess  recently.  The  old  fellow  has  gone  to 
pieces  considerably.  A  son  has  run  off  with  his  earnings 
of  twenty  years,  and  left  him  penniless.  He  was  garrulous 
as  ever.  He  gave  me  the  biggest  shock  of  my  life.  He 
had  set  to  work  as  usual  anathematizing  the  entire  Euro- 

364 


OUR  AMBASSADOR'S  REPORT 

pean  community,  when  he  let  me  in  for  the  following.  ' '  I 
outdid  'em  once,"  he  said,  with  a  knowing  leer.  I  asked 
him  to  explain  himself.  ' '  It  was  when  I  drew  up  that  chalk 
report, ' '  he  answered.  ' '  It  was  a  provision  of  the  Almighty 
that  sent  you  up  to  Paris  that  night  to  fall  into  the  hands 
of  Mariotti  and  his  crew.  In  your  absence,  the  next  day, 
I  made  the  survey.  That  'ere  durned  chalk  stopped  two 
feet  short  of  the  border.  If  Lamballe  weren't  a  furriner 
he'd  a' found  it  out  long  ago."  ' 

"The  letter  continues, — 

1 ' '  You  may  not  be  unmindful  of  the  fact  that  I  have 
been  brought  up  in  the  belief  that  all  is  fair  in  love  and 
war.  Personally,  I  have  more  than  once  been  convinced  of 
this  theory — as  regards  war.  Say,  for  instance,  a  man  con- 
tests a  problem  with  an  antagonist  who  comes  to  the  fray 
poorly  equipped.  The  deficiency  of  the  enemy  is  not  the 
fault  of  the  opposing  party  ;  rather  his  opportunity. 
N'est-ce-pas? — as  our  French  friends  would  say.  This  is 
not  irrelevant.  It  concerns  the  Carembourg  affair.  Do 
you  remember  the  night  Lamballe  consented  to  forego  his 
prejudice,  I  proffered  him  Burgess's  report,  asking  him  to 
procure  a  French  expert  to  confirm  it  in  his — Lamballe' s — 
interest  ?  He  refused — claiming  that  French  etiquette  im- 
posed that  he  should  take  our  word  for  it.  I  suspected  Bur- 
gess faintly  all  along.  I  had  experienced  a  ghoulish  sensation 
that  our  chosen  surveyor  was  a  slippery  customer  more  than 
once.  I  do  not  know  why.  I  set  forth  the  night  of  that  tenth 
of  June  to  confirm  my  suspicion  that  he  intended  to  play  Lam- 
balle. I  failed  to  accomplish  my  object.  When  Burgess's  re- 
port was  handed  in  I  thought  at  first  I  would  go  down  my- 
self, and  have  a  look  at  the  premises.  Then  I  decided,  why 
not  let  well  enough  alone  ?  Lamballe  is  satisfied  :  our  vic- 
tory is  complete.  There  can  be  no  error.  The  affair  went 

365 


A  NEW   RACE  DIPLOMATIST 

out  for  me  entirely  after  I  left  Paris — until  I  met  Burgess. 
I  cogitated  over  his  startling  communication  not  a  little. 
Abroad  one's  pulse  gets  the  best  of  one's  conscience.  Out 
here  a  man  has  time,  and  will,  to  think.  You  have  fully  es- 
tablished our  interests,  and  shipped  several  hundred  cargoes 
of  chalk  homewards  ;  in  spite  of  which  I  ask  you  to  sub- 
mit this  letter  to  Lamballe,  and  give  him  the  benefit  of 
Burgess's  fraud.'  ' 

Markoe  placed  the  letter  in  its  envelope,  lifted  his  eye- 
glasses from  the  bridge  of  his  nose,  and  met  the  President' s 
eyes  with  his  own. 

"Did  you  inform  Lamballe  of  Conway's  communica- 
tion?" 

1 '  I  made  my  way  to  Carembourg  shortly  afterwards. 
The  valley  was  smoking  peacefully.  Homeliness  and  in- 
dustry were  holding  full  sway.  I  paid  my  respects  to  the 
overseer.  Then  I  asked  Lamballe  to  go  for  a  walk.  We 
finally  strolled  across  the  meadows  towards  the  edge  of  a 
stream,  where  once  a  blood-red  row  of  poppies  bore  silent 
witness  to  the  dividing  line  between  Germany  and  France. 
It  had  been  replaced  by  a  miniature  fortification  of  upturned 
earth.  We  looked  back.  '  A  happy,  sunshiny  place,  eh, 
Lamballe  ?'  I  suggested  ;  '  I  take  it  you  would  not  reverse 
your  decision  now  if  you  might  ?'  '  Your  surmise  is  cor- 
rect,' he  confirmed;  'I  thank  fortune  chance  intervened 
to  point  out  to  me  the  error  of  my  ways. '  '  Say  the  chalk 
had  not  extended  across  the  border?'  I  ventured.  He 
looked  at  me  sharply.  '  What  would  have  happened 
then?'  I  asked.  'I  think,  monsieur  1'Ambassadeur,'  he 
said,  '  that  life  is  too  short  for  the  guessing  of  conun- 
drums.' 'But  suppose,'  I  insisted.  He  refused.  I  drew 
Conway's  letter  from  my  pocket.  I  handed  it  to  him. 
His  expression  did  not  change  perceptibly  as  he  mastered 

366 


OUR  AMBASSADOR'S   REPORT 

its  contents.  He  smiled  faintly,  however,  as  he  returned  it 
to  me.  '  The  contract  is  a  fait  accompli,'  he  said.  '  Con- 
way  is  my  wife's  son,  otherwise  he  might  not  have  gotten 
off  so  easily.'  Later  he  remarked — his  tone  was  harsh, 
but  his  face  bright — '  It  is  curious  to  note  the  similarity 
between  Conway's  naif  assumption  of  my  generosity,  and 
the  policy  of  that  wily  diplomat  Talleyrand. '  '  What  was 
Talleyrand's  policy?'  I  inquired.  '  When  in  doubt — don't,' 
quoted  Lamballe." 

' '  What  did  you  answer  ?' '  demanded  the  President. 
He  was  leaning  forward,  the  palm  of  each  hand  upon  the 
cap  of  each  knee. 

"  I  said,  '  You  do  Conway  an  injustice.  We  have  es- 
tablished a  new  heraldry!'  '  What  is  it  ?'  Lamballe  asked 
sceptically.  To  the  Old  World  there  is  a  supreme  eternal 
irony  in  our  audacity.  '  When  in  doubt — do, '  I  said. ' ' 

Markoe  folded  the  letter  neatly,  and  placed  it  in  his  vest 
pocket. 

' '  You  say  his  name  is ?' ' 

"Conway." 

"He  is  the  son  of ?" 

' '  He  is  the  offspring  of  an  unancestried  race  that  is  not 
afraid  to  be." 

' '  An  ideal  record  was  started  there  to  the  west  of  us 
thirty-eight  years  ago,"  mused  the  President  aloud.  He 
added,  with  an  exultant  ring  in  his  voice, — 

"  A  man  who  makes  just  use  of  grace,  like  Conway,  not 
alone  sustains.  He  approaches  it. ' ' 


THE    END 


367 


LIST  OF  POPULAR  NOVELS. 


By  John  Luther  Long. 
The  Fox-Woman. 

With  frontispiece,  on  Japanese  paper,  by  VIRGINIA  H.  DAVISSON. 
I2rao.     Cloth,  ornamental,  $1.25. 

The  popular  author  of  "Miss  Cherry- Blossom  of  Tfikyo"  and 
"Madam  Butterfly"  has  taken  a  long  step  forward  in  this  beautiful, 
idyllic  new  tale  of  "  Far  Japan."  There  is  a  legend  of  that  country, 
of  the  beautiful  "Fox- Woman,"  who,  having  been  given  no  soul, 
cannot  reach  Nirvana  unless  she  steals  the  soul  of  a  man.  Mr.  Long 
adapts  this  legend  to  modern  purposes  in  his  fascinating  story. 


Miss  Cherry-Blossom  of  Tokyo. 

I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

"  The  delicate  touches  of  scenery,  society,  and  character  that  give 
constantly  changing  color  to  almost  every  page,  are  like  the  work  of  a 
painter  over  his  stretched  canvas,  which  one  is  so  fond  of  watching  as 
it  is  laid  on.  A  more  ideal  story  right  in  the  middle  of  the  hard  facts 
of  every-day  life  it  is  not  often  one' s  good  fortune  to  fall  upon.  It  is 
like  a  pot  of  honey  fetched  from  the  cupboard  for  the  delectation  of 
the  mental  palate." — Boston  Courier. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT   COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


LIST  OF  POPULAR  NOVELS. 


By  Rosa  N.   Carey. 
Mollie's  Prince. 

I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

Miss  Carey  has  a  well-merited  reputation  as  a  writer  of  light, 
pleasant,  wholesome  romance — of  a  kind  to  place  safely  in  the  hands 
of  young  girls.  Her  books  are  distinguished  by  high  tone,  clear  char- 
acterization, and  bright  humor,  with  never  a  dull  page  from  beginning 
to  end. 

By  Joseph  Hatton. 
When  Rogues  Fall  Out. 

A  Romance  of  Old  London.      I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

Mr.  Hatton,  so  well  and  favorably  known  to  appreciative  readers 
of  good  fiction,  gives  in  this,  his  latest  work,  what  he  considers  to  be 
the  truth  concerning  Jack  Sheppard  and  his  associates ;  and  there  is 
enough  of  romance  in  the  true  story  to  obviate  the  necessity  for  any 
violence  to  historic  facts. 

By  Mrs.  Alexander. 
The  Step-Mother. 

I2mo.      Cloth,  $1.25. 

"  Mrs.  Alexander  knows  perfectly  how  to  write  these  emotional 
romances,  and  she  always  creates  interest,  and  sustains  it  with  pleasant 
devices  of  plot  and  manner  which  commend  her  books  to  readers  of 
good  books. ' '  —  Washington  Times. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT   COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


BY  MRS.  ALEXANDER. 


A  GOLDEN   AUTUMN. 

I2mo.      Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.25. 

"  Mrs.  Alexander's  novels  are  decidedly  of  the  higher  order.  They  reflect 
the  lives  and  sayings  of  wholesome  people,  carry  a  healthy  moral,  and  convey 
valuable  lessons  to  enlightened  readers." — Si.  Louis  Globe- Democrat. 


A  FIGHT  WITH   FATE. 

I2mo.     Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.25. 

"  This  is  Mrs.  Alexander's  best  story,  and  readers  of  her  two  previous  novels, 
'  For  His  Sake'  and  '  Found  Wanting,'  will  at  once  recognize  this  as  high  praise. 
It  is  an  English  story.  The  plot  is  good,  is  skilfully  developed ;  the  dialogue  is 
bright,  the  situations,  many  of  them,  dramatic.  On  the  whole,  it  is  a  bright, 
entertaining  novel,  and  one  of  the  best  of  the  season." — Boston  Advertiser. 


FOUND   WANTING. 

I2mo.     Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"  This  author's  stories  are  always  worth  reading,  and  her  new  one  is  no  excep- 
tion. The  heroine  is  fascinating  and  noble,  and  all  the  characters  are  well  drawn, 
and  the  dilemma  on  which  the  plot  hinges  is  handled  well." — Boston  Congrega- 
tionalist. 


FOR  HIS  SAKE. 

I2mo.     Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"  Mrs.  Alexander  is  always  successful  in  tasks  such  as  she  has  set  herself  in 
this  novel, — the  portrayal  of  character  in  English  middle-class  life.  In  dealing 
with  domestic  complications  and  the  interaction  of  characters  upon  each  other  she 
is  very  skilful,  and  she  contrives  to  divide  our  sympathies  pretty  equally  between 
her  heroine  and  her  two  lovers." — Charleston  News  and  Courier. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT   COMPANY,    PHILADELPHIA. 


LIST  OF  POPULAR  NOVELS. 


By  Mrs.  Hugh  Fraser. 
The  Splendid  Porsenna. 

I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

The  scenes  of  this  story  are  laid  in  modern  Rome,  where  the 
author  and  her  brother,  Marion  Crawford,  spent  their  early  life,  but 
many  of  the  characters  are  English.  The  story  is  full  of  dramatic 
situations,  and  of  absorbing  interest 


By  John  Strange  Winter. 
A  Name  to  Conjure  With. 

I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

Mrs.  Stannard's  latest  novel  is  a  well-elaborated  tale  of  a  woman 
writer  whose  works  deservedly  brought  her  great  vogue,  but  who  was 
led  to  reinforce  her  brain  against  the  constant  drain  by  ....  but  it 
would  be  a  pity  to  spoil  the  story  for  Mrs.  Stannard's  host  of  eager 
readers.  It  would  be  but  just,  however,  to  say  that  "A  Name  to 
Conjure  With"  is  one  of  this  writer's  best  productions. 


By  W.  C.  Morrow. 
A  Man  ;    His  Mark. 


With  frontispiece  by  ELENORE  PLAISTED  ABBOTT.     i2mo.     Cloth, 

ornamental,  $1.25. 

A  romance  of  most  absorbing  interest.  In  this  his  latest  volume 
Mr.  Morrow  shows  all  the  power  and  originality  which  made  his  pre- 
vious book  so  talked  about,  without  the  element  of  horror  which  per- 
vaded those  remarkable  stories. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


By  Capt.  Chas.  King,  U.S.A. 


The  General's  Double,   illustrated. 
Under  Fire,  illustrated.  The  Colonel's  Daughter,  illustrated. 
Marion's  Faith,   illustrated.      Captain  Blake,   illustrated. 

in    AmbUSh.     (Paper,  50  cents.) 
izmo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 


Waring's  Peril.  A  Trooper  Galahad. 

Trials  of  a  Staff  Officer. 

zamo.     Cloth,  $1.00. 


Kitty's  Conquest. 

Starlight  Ranch,  and  Other  Stories. 
Laramie  ;  or,  The  Queen  of  Bedlam. 
The  Deserter,  and  From  the  Ranks. 
Two  Soldiers,  and  Dunraven  Ranch. 
A  Soldier's  Secret,  and  An  Army  Portia. 
Captain  Close,  and  Sergeant  Croesus. 

i2mo.     Cloth,  jx. oo ;  paper,  50  cents. 


A  Tame  Surrender.  Ray's  Recruit. 

Illustrated.     i6mo.     Polished  buckram,  75  cents. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT   COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


LIST  OF  POPULAR  NOVELS. 


By  Baroness  Von  Hutten. 
Miss  Carmichael's  Conscience. 

With  frontispiece  by  ELIZABETH  SHIPPEN  GREEN.     i2mo.     Cloth, 
ornamental,  $1.00. 

It  will  be  evident  to  the  readers  of  this  volume  that  a  new  writer 
of  clever,  temperamental  society  stories  has  arisen,  and  one  who  must 
be  admitted  to  be  one  of  the  brightest,  most  entertaining,  and  most 
earnest  writers  in  this  vein.  Baroness  Von  Hutten  is  young,  and  an 
American  by  birth. 

By  Dr.  C.  W.  Doyle. 
The  Shadow  of  Quong  Lung. 

I2mo.     Cloth,  extra,  $1.25. 

A  powerful  and  original  story  of  the  Chinese  quarter  of  San  Fran- 
cisco. Bound  to  extend  the  wide  and  immediate  reputation  gained  for 
the  author  by  the  publication  of  his  first  book,  "  The  Taming  of  the 
Jungle."  

By  Dr.  C.  W.  Doyle. 
The  Taming  of  the  Jungle. 

Third  Edition.      I2mo.     Cloth,  ornamental,  $1.00. 

"The  most  notable  new  book  of  the  hour." — Philadelphia 
Record, 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT   COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


WILSON  BARRETT'S  GREAT  NOVEL 


The  Sign  of  the  Cross 


WITH  FRONTISPIECE  BY  B.  WEST  CLINEDINST. 


I2mo.     Cloth,  extra,  $1.50. 


"You  seem  to  me  to  have  rendered  a  great  service  to  the  best  and  holiest  of 
all  causes, — The  Cause  of  Faith." — RT.  HON.  W.  E.  GLADSTONE. 

"  Mr.  Barrett  has  succeeded  admirably  in  placing  a  strong  and  intense  story 
before  the  reading  public." — Cincinnati  Commercial  Tribune. 

"  Mr.  Barrett  has  treated  his  subject  with  reverence  and  dignity.  The  brutal, 
licentious  Nero  and  his  ribald  drunken  satellites  make  an  admirable  foil  to  the 
spiritual  Mercia  and  the  other  followers  of  Christ ;  and  throughout  the  book  the 
nobility,  the  simple  faith,  and  the  steadfastness  of  these  last  are  dominating  notes. 
No  more  impressive  lesson  of  the  power  of  the  doctrines  of  Christianity  has  been 
given  in  fiction  than  the  conversion  of  Marcus,  Nero's  Prefect,  through  the  ex- 
ample and  fearlessness  of  the  girl  Mercia." — Philadelphia  Evening  Bulletin. 

"  '  The  Sign  of  the  Cross"  is  an  historical  story  of  the  first  Christian  century 
which  in  a  forcible  way  portrays  the  conflict  between  the  religion  of  the  Caesars 
and  that  of  Christ.     It  is  crowded  with  picturesque  personages,  some  of  them 
historical,  and  it  is  provided  with  moving  scenes  and  dramatic  situations.     Th 
triumph  of  the  Cross  is  set  forth  in  a  manner  to  make  vivid  the  odds  it  overcam 
and  the  force  of  its  influence.     Mr.  Barrett,  in  making  fiction  out  of  drama,  show 
himself  to  possess  a  decided  literary  ability  (not  necessarily  to  be  found  in  th 
writer  of  a  good  acting  play),  and  he  tells  the  story  with  keen  instinct  for  it 
dramatic  value.     The  result  is  a  readable  and  impressive  novel  whose  action  is 
swift  and  whose  interest  is  sustained  throughout.     The  book  is  a  justification 
of  the  experiment  of  turning  stage  literature  into  closet  reading." — Hartford 
Courant. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT   COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


By  "The  Duchess." 


The  Coming  of  Chloe.  Lovice. 

iamo.     Cloth,  $1.25.  izmo.     Cloth,  £1.25. 

The  Three  Graces. 

With  six  full-page  illustrations,     izmo.  Cloth,  $1.25. 


Peter's  Wife.  A  Little  Irish  Girl. 

Lady  Patty.  The  Hoyden. 

A  Lonely  Maid.  An  Unsatisfactory  Lover. 

xamo.  Paper,  50  cents ;  cloth,  Ji.oo. 


Phyllis.  Mrs.  Geoffrey. 

Molly  Bawn.  Portia. 

Airy  Fairy  Lilian.  Loys,  Lord  Berresford,  and 

Beauty's  Daughters.  Other  Stories. 

Faith  and  Unfaith.  Rossmoyne. 

Doris.  A  Mental  Struggle. 

"O  Tender  Dolores."  Lady  Val worth's  Diamonds. 

A  Maiden  All  Forlorn.  Lady  Branksmere. 

In  Durance  Vile.  A  Modern  Circe. 

The  Duchess.  The  Honourable  Mrs.  Vereker. 

Marvel.  Under-Currents. 

Jerry,  and  Other  Stories.  A  Life's  Remorse. 

A  Point  of  Conscience. 

i2mo.     Bound  only  in  cloth,  jx.co. 


" '  The  Duchess"  has  well  deserved  the  title  of  being  one  of  the  most  fasci- 
nating novelists  of  the  day.  The  stories  written  by  her  are  the  airiest,  lightest, 
and  brightest  imaginable ;  full  of  wit,  spirit,  and  gayety,  yet  containing  touches  of 
the  most  exquisite  pathos.  There  is  something  good  in  all  of  them." — London 
Academy. 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT   COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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